


WHITE KING, BLACK KING

by Runeless



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adrestia - Freeform, Agartha, Agarthans - Freeform, Almyran Delights!, Arson, Bernadetta is Best Friend, Betrayal, Board Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Chaos, Chess, Choices, Claudelgard, Cornelia is the world's worst student advisor, Count von Varley's A+ Parenting, Darkness versus Death, Death, Death in Childbirth, Death to the Fell Star!, Dedue is the best Deer, Deerdue, Dismemberment, Edelaude, Edelgard POV, Edelgard x Claude, F/F, F/M, Faerghus, Faerghus eats its own, Faerghus is a mess, Finaly show up, Fire Emblem - Freeform, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gardening, Golden Deer, Healing, Healing Magic, Hero and Villain in Love, Hubert Huberting, I know Edelaude is kinda the main ship name, Irony, Is Cornelia/Dimitri gonna be a tag?, Justice for Duscur!, Leceister, Letters, Limb loss, Loneliness, Love, Lysithea Almighty, M/M, Mistrust, More games of chess, On both sides of that divide, Patricia - Freeform, Politics, Post-Time Skip, Prophecy, Redemption, Revelations, Rufus was a stupid bastard, Rumors of a Reaper, Sadism, Secrets, Shambhala, Shipping, So much going on with them, Spoilers, TW: Racism, Technically wrong because Almyra is more Persian, That would be so wrong, The Death Knight - Freeform, The Midnight Duel, The Tragedy of Duscur, The actual food is, Truth, Turkish Delight, Violence, War, Who's dating? We're not dating, baby wyvern, black eagles - Freeform, blood on bird-skull masks, blue lions - Freeform, but Claudelgard is too funny not to use, but Turkish Delight is what I like and know how to cook, change, compromise tea, cursing, damn agarthans, flayn - Freeform, freaks and weirdos, holy shit, irony is getting such a workout, irony is going to be SO SWOLE when this fic is done, it's - Freeform, like yes, mage duels, oh lord politics, oh my!, oh sitri, outsiders - Freeform, people have been bad to Claude for a long time, post-time skip spoilers, seriously if you don't know some of the big twists stop reading, spoilers for the plot, the coin of choice, the earth and the wind, the shrike, time skip, tw: abuse, tw: bad parenting, tw: child abuse, tw: discrimination, tw: sexual abuse, tw: war, unity, verdant wind, viscounts and margraves and emperors, what do you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 217,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runeless/pseuds/Runeless
Summary: What happens when the White King loves the Black King?A tale of love, of redemption, of chess, of motifs, and of meeting in the middle; of the ways in which war should be waged, and acknowledging your mistakes.  Of play, and white clouds, and crimson flowers that long for verdant wind.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Cornelia Arnim/Myson, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Hilda von Goneril/Marianne von Edmund, My Unit | Byleth/Rhea, Unrequited Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 399
Kudos: 291





	1. The Heart, En Prise

**WHITE KING, BLACK KING**

**Act I**

**White Clouds**

**The Heart, En Prise**

It starts with a simple change: Claude is the closest to Edelgard during the bandit's final attack. When Kostas begins his bull rush, seeking to kill at least _one_ of these sniveling noble children, Claude is closer to Edelgard than Byleth is. The archer had been supporting her axework, the two not working well together- since they barely knew each other- but trained warriors can move together even if they are strangers, the way that two players new to chess can still work out how pawns move and knights leap.

With the dry forest undergrowth crunching beneath his feet, the wood of his bow smooth and strong in his hand, Claude had loosed an arrow into a bandit, the man dying as it pierced a new hole in his lungs that let out all the breath of life he had in him. Claude smirked- he didn't like killing, but these were _bandits_ who had attacked him first, and he felt no real guilt at dropping them. He turned to see how Edelgard was doing, saw her cut down with a heavy strike the bandit before her, blood spurting in the air- and wasn't that a strange image, this dainty and delicate princess of Adrestia, whose fighting style was this mad hack and slash, the frenzied chopping that left her spattered with her enemies' innards.

He also saw, to her left, Kostas' charge, the kind that would leave Edelgard on the opposite end of such a heavy chop, leave _her_ innards splattered on somebody else.

Claude, though he rarely thought it of himself, was a good man, a just man, and even his dreams were noble. So his next action was not calculated, not schemed, not planned; it was simply what he felt like should be done.

Disregarding their roles, disregarding the rules, disregarding that they came from different nations and that, frankly, her death would be an opportunity for his people... Claude leapt before Kostas and tried to stop the axe.

He failed. Kostas was still spattered with innards, but they were _Claude's_ , spilling from his broken skull. In one timeline, Edelgard is horrified at her own plan's success; she'd gotten Claude killed, but she'd gotten him killed _saving_ her, and the guilt causes her to make a mistake. She makes a mistake, in the name of a dead man, and ends up revealing her plan to Byleth early on, and much changes, with Byleth knowing who the Flame Emperor is, almost from the start.

But Byleth averted that timeline with the power of a dead goddess. It never happened; what happened instead is this. Claude's heroic rescue is cut short as he himself is rescued by a dead-eyed mercenary woman, who quirks an eyebrow at him as a small green ghost giggles in amusement.

“ Hey,” he shrugged, answering her unspoken question. “ Guess I felt brave there.”

“ Weren't you the one who ran away first?” Dimitri responded, having finished off the last of the bandits himself with the terrible relish that always accompanied combat for the prince. Claude, to his credit, let out a laugh that barely shook, barely revealed how terrified he was, how much he recognized the closeness of death.

And Edelgard, behind him, just stared at Claude, wide-eyed.

Just for a second, one single second; but a person can change in an instant.

-

The walk back is quiet. Edelgard is a storm of emotions inside, self-hate not the least of them.

She'd paid the bandits to attack. And, of course, they did what bandits do, and went overboard, and her own life had been on the line. She'd had time to think _fair enough_ , because Edelgard tried to be honest with herself about how bad this plan was. To die to it felt almost...

She'd almost been okay with it.

Then Claude had... he'd almost... Goddess be damned, she meant for him to die in the attack, and if he had died to save her, she would never have forgiven herself. The irony, the _hypocrisy_ , would have been too much, she would have choked on it.

She finds herself watching him, even when she doesn't mean to. His face, smooth and smirking, but surprisingly honest; his smile does not reach his eyes. Edelgard's better at that kind of lie, her smile reaches her eyes; she wonders what he is hiding.

Admittedly, _Edelgard_ wondering what someone _else_ might be hiding tastes of that same irony and hypocrisy; it will not be a secret like hers, it will not be midnight pacts with monstrous men and the deaths of nations.

Still, she finds herself listening to him, listening to that storyteller's voice, watching those mobile hands, swift as the wind, and wonders what it would be like to let him carry her away like the breeze.

(She will never have him, it is part of the things she is giving up for her dream, but even self-hating Edelgard cannot blame herself for a glance.)

-

Garreg Mach looms over them, grand and imposing. Edelgard looks at it, and imagines it on fire; the screams of Church faithful, the sound of stone melting. It pleases something brutal and ugly inside her, the part of her that contains her rage, a thing she keeps chained up better than Dimitri does his own. They are both very, _very_ angry people, but there is this difference between them: Dimitri's anger controls him, Edelgard controls her anger.

(Or so she likes to believe. She does not know that her anger is merely _smarter_ than Dimitri's, quieter, slips past her guard to poison her every thought, with her none the wiser. Between the two of them, at least Dimitri knows what his anger is doing to him... though it will be years before she acknowledges it, Edelgard will eventually realize that she's much delusional than Dimitri is; he, at least, recognizes his rage as out of control, while she sits in the blaze of her own rage and believes herself cold and calm.)

The church floor beneath Edelgard's feet feels cold even through her shoes, the very air feels electric on her skin; she feels as if all the old tales are true, and this holy ground will burn her unfaithful body to ashes if she remains here. The entire monastery is technically holy ground, but this inner sanctum is the most sacred space in all of Fodlan. If any place can burn a heretic by mere weight of power, it is this place; and Edelgard is not merely a heretic, she is the enemy, a demon like Nemesis.

Still, a few steps in, she does not catch fire, and the childish fear fades. Edelgard's stride had not even slowed down, keeping up with the longer legs of her compatriots- well, longer _everything_ of her compatriots. She should have been much taller, but the experiments and the dark had taken that from her, too, the same as it stole...

_Don't think about your siblings._

They reach Rhea soon enough. She stands, tall as a goddess, this thing that wears a human skin, so that it might scrawl Crests and death over all of human history. Edelgard _hates_ her, hates her only slightly less than she hates the Agarthans, but she puts on a neutral expression, lets the hate roar in her veins without touching her face at all. She'd done it long enough when dealing with the Slithering Ones, after all, and for much the same reason- it wasn't quite time, not just yet.

The conversation is mostly on Jeralt's shoulders, for which Edelgard is glad, but then Rhea turns her gaze on Edelgard. Edelgard quells her suddenly terrified heart; standing now before her greatest foe, she is beset with the immediate, unfounded certainty that Rhea can see everything, she is certain this inhuman beast will turn its stolen human face on her and order her execution. Those eyes are cold, calm, her smile reaches her eyes and... and there is something Edelgard _recognizes_ in her eyes, the little microsecond flashes of movement and creases that mean... pain?

But she pulls back from that, from recognizing in the eyes of the Archbishop of Fodlan something Edelgard sees in the mirror every day. A trick, she convinces herself. Or just projecting. She _had_ almost died recently, it was a good excuse for being thrown off.

Rhea- Seiros in her own mind- sees it, too. The wariness that never quite leaves, the fear of harm that never goes away, that shadows everything inside. Born of different terrors- of genocide for Seiros and abuse for Edelgard- but something that unites them that they both choose to ignore. Worlds exist where they do not, where Rhea's attempt to speak to Edelgard about their mutual nature results in a rather different ending for the both of them, where after much bloodshed and tears they are able to come to terms with each other peacefully...

But this world is like most worlds, and most timelines. Rhea and Edelgard see themselves in each other's eyes, then explain it away, and nothing more is made of the moment of connection between the two of them.

Instead, the conversation turns to the mercenary who saved Claude, who is asked to join the monastery, to the surprise of everyone there. Edelgard would think all this some stunt of Rhea's- one unfortunate side-effect of working a conspiracy was a tendency to assume everyone _else_ was doing the same- except that even Seteth, Rhea's right-hand, is as stunned as the two mercenaries are. It's too strange... there's something going on here, and it frustrates Edelgard to not know what it is, some secret Rhea is keeping from everyone. She'll have to have Hubert shadow this new professor...

Byleth joins the Golden Deer, claiming that Claude needs watching after. She further tells the Archbishop that he'd risked his life for Edelgard's. Rhea quirks an eyebrow at that.

“ Oh? Quite dashing, young man.”

Claude chuckles awkwardly. “ Well, you know, it's what she'd do for me.”

She knows he has no idea she paid for the bandits, but hearing him say that feels like he's punching her in the chest. Her warm feelings towards him drown in the cold truth, that someday, she will stand over his grave.

Regret is not unfamiliar to Edelgard, but this one stings sharper than most.

-

Garreg Mach would be a good place to be, if it were not for... everything. Edelgard curses Rhea and Thales both in her mind; but that the two of them were at a shadow war, with her as the crowning pawn of one side, she might have... she might have been at peace, here.

( White King she might be, but to the Red King- to Thales in Shambhala- she is merely a pawn.)

She almost is, anyway, despite... everything. The days at Garreg Mach, for the first two months, are almost... sweet. Innocent. The white clouds in the sky above are matched by the fluffy nature of her ground-bound days, the green grass of the monastery curling, the wind gentle and calm, the sunshine warm. She likes sunshine- she remembers the dark cells too well to do anything _but_ love the light- and it is nice, for just a little while, to relax.

Once, she lets herself just stay outside for a few hours after class, lounging in a quiet area, soaking up the sun with what little skin she can show, the remnant of her flesh that was yet unstained by the scars of her surgeries and violation. She just lay there, eyes shut, feeling it warm on her skin, pretending- just a little- that it is healing her, the light filtering into her shadows and chasing them away.

It _is_ just a fantasy- and Edelgard is so carefully rational, she is so careful with her thoughts and her feelings, that it feels almost weird to play pretend about _anything_ \- but it pleases her, and she returns to her room as the sun sets with a happy heart.

Her classmates- and future servants- are an interesting bunch, though she spends little time on them. Loyalty to Adrestia will drag all of them to her side in the war, and it is best for her not to get close to men and women whose deaths she will demand, in due time; not on purpose, she won't be ordering them to kill themselves, but war has a way of killing people, that is what it _does_. She doesn't want to see their faces or hear their names and hesitate to commit them to some desperate battle; better to stay... remote.

Besides Ferdinand- whose father she hates _so much_ , this bellowing rage inside her when she looks at him, and memories of her siblings' lifeless faces- none of them are really all that noteworthy. Petra will obey or Brigid will be broken, Dorothea is a commoner and of no real interest, Caspar, Bernadetta and Linhardt will all serve or die. Ferdinand makes a nuisance of himself, but she sets Hubert on him, and that resolves itself neatly, if... oddly. She hadn't expected a schoolboy crush, and definitely not between Ferdinand and Hubert, but telling Hubert to reject Ferdinand sends the orange-haired young man off to join the Golden Deer, so that's done with.

The other houses, though... she watches Dimitri intensely, checks the Lions over. Looks for weak points. She dismisses Dimitri out of hand, as well as Dedue; they'll have to be eliminated. Mercedes was once an Adrestian, but she goes off the list of possible traitors after a few “chance” discussions; Mercedes is too soft-hearted to do what needs doing. Really, Mercedes only becomes noticeable once, when she switches Houses to the Golden Deer for some reason- something to do with studying archery.

Sylvain is grotesque to Edelgard, written off after a five-minute conversation; she won't mind killing him when her war starts. If nothing else, it's vengeance for the women he uses up and throws away, which is disgusting, no matter how he whines and justifies it to others.

Ingrid and Ashe spark something she hadn't expected, the two so noble in spirit and action that she finds herself admiring the both of them.. and with a sigh, she must put both those chivalrous souls in the category of those who must die. They will not betray their king, not even for a cause as good as Edelgard's, and so they are just more martyred grist for the mill of revolution.

(Something in her brain asks the fatal question, _If such heroes cannot join you, can you claim righteousness?_ She ignores it, as she has always ignored that voice of reason. Her rage silences it. Someone must _pay,_ her suffering must be _avenged_ \- a voice she pretends not to hear, but obeys with every breath.)

Felix stands out as a possible candidate, his eternal thorniness showing he has little loyalty to Faerghus. They might capture all House Fraldarius through him. Annette, too, might be a possible candidate for recruitment, her love of sorcery and concerns over her father weakening her loyalty; she is not as valuable as Felix, but she _is_ a talented mage, and Edelgard will need as many of those as she can grab to help counteract the masked mages' abilities.

The Deer, meanwhile... the Deer are _deeply_ confusing, not least because, every time she attempts to observe them, she finds herself looking at Claude. Claude, who leads this chaotic, haphazard mess, who somehow stays afloat on this sea of randomness, sailing sure through the storm that is his bizarre following.

But even when she can pull her eyes away from his, she finds the Deer to be... a mess, honestly. Their professor, Byleth, is a monotone, intimidating presence at the front. The students are no better. Leonie is trying to be a rival to her own teacher, and Raphael seems incapable of doing anything but eating and working out. Ignatz would rather be painting, Hilda would rather be doing literally anything else, Marianne would rather die, and Lorenz seems to be Ferdinand, but purple.

The only one Edelgard sees as worth much- other than Claude- is Lysithea, whose family was murdered so that Edelgard's could die in torment. _Lysithea_ , Edelgard's heart aches to look at her, at the white hair, at the pain that is her pain, on someone even younger than she. Edelgard will not live to see thirty-one, should her will be strong as the Goddess'; Lysithea will not live to see twenty-five. It's not...

She chokes that down. She _knows_ it's not fair, and the difference between her and everyone else is this: when she thinks that thought, _it's not fair_ , she doesn't feel _sorrow._ That's the usual thing for most people. But for Edelgard, that thought is a _warcry_ , for her, that thought is _shouted._ It is an outlet for the fury inside her, and Edelgard is not Dimitri, she masters her anger, she is not mastered by it.

( _Someone who had mastered it would not spend so much time thinking about it_ , says truth inside her, and she ignores it again. Edelgard is a better liar than she knows- she not only lies to everyone around her, but to herself.)

The Deer prompt only one observation from her, as a whole: how in the world does this group manage to get _anything_ done? For all that she barely notices them, her own House consists of the competent, not this... bizarre mish-mash of personalities. The Lions at least had the excuse that nearly all of their members had seen active combat, and had been trained well. But with the Deer... she's not sure Ignatz knows which end of a sword goes in a person, and she's _convinced_ that Marianne doesn't.

But Claude... Claude moves among them like they are kings and queens, like he is _proud_ to lead such an absurd mangle of people. As if they could be worthy of him... worthy of such a beautiful man. His eyes are her favorite feature of him, those grass-green eyes, verdant and pure.

She sees the effort he puts forth. He is always present with his House members, he is always moving amongst them, and Hilda moves with him, complaining all the while but following along. He is putting in tremendous effort to know them, for some reason. Dimitri is polite to his House but mostly speaks with his childhood friends; Edelgard does not involve herself with her House at all. What is Claude planning?

In time, she decides she must know. She decides to go speak with him, a few weeks in.

She finds that he is setting up a little game next to his room. A little thing, but she recognizes the board and the pieces both, divided between black and white. She is, herself, fond of board games, collects them as the closest thing to a hobby she has.

“ Care for a game, princess?” he asks with a smile, friendly teasing, which she has not heard since all her siblings died. It doesn't reach his eyes, but then again, neither do Edelgard's smiles.

She looks him in the eyes, those beautiful eyes, and says the word that undoes her.

“ Yes.”

-

He finishes setting up while Hilda, ever-faithful and ever-present, grabs a chair for Edelgard after her obligatory minimum of complaining.

Edelgard finds herself rather... looking forward to playing. It is an old strategy game he is setting up, involving moving little carved wooden figures against each other in mimicry of actual war; one side white, that moves first, the other black, which defends.

She has always enjoyed such games; before the dark, before... everything, there had been little Edelgard, watching two of her siblings playing board games, cheering when one won even though she didn't understand any of what was going on. They had rubbed her auburn head, laughed and smiled with her, and it had happened once a week, like clockwork, until the men from underground came and took them all in chains to their deaths.

She has kept her love of those things, has a small collection that gathers dust in her room. Nobody plays with her; she is the future ruler, and nobody feels confident enough to take Edelgard on in a strategy game, fearing victory and loss both. A shame. She amuses herself sometimes, in what exceptionally little free time she has, by playing both sides in some of those board games, testing herself against, well, herself.

She wonders what playing with someone else will be like.

-

“ You know,” Claude says, moving up his bishop, “ I had always assumed nobody in Fodlan actually played this game.”

“ Oh?” Edelgard replies, moving up her knight to counteract. It is early, yet, they are still testing each other's defenses, and she is interested to see how much her solo play counts against another, actual human.

“ Yes,” Claude answered, moving a pawn up to dare her knight to strike it down and, in doing so, expose a weakness in her flank. “ Everybody talks about it, but nobody actually plays it. I learned how a while ago, and was so disappointed to find no one else shared the interest. It's actually really nice to play with someone else!”

She refused the bait, moving a pawn up to compete with the pawn he'd withdrawn. “ I must admit, few share a passion for it.”

He slid his other bishop out; he apparently favored them, hands moving to the little carved pieces that looked like the various long-haired women the Church usually put in such positions. “ I've always liked it. Always preferred playing black, too. They're the good guys, you know.”

She slid her other knight out, repeating on the right side of the board the situation on the left. “ Oh? How do you figure? They're just colored pieces of wood, there's not precisely a plot to go with this game.”

“ Ah, but there is! You just don't see it,” Claude said with a chuckle, as he moved a pawn forward, again seeking to bait her out. “ It's right in front of you, but that's why it's so hard to figure out. White goes first. That's how you know they're the bad guys.”

“ Explain,” Edelgard asked, curious, once more matching him.

“ White attacks first,” Claude repeated, but slower this time, with more dramatic emphasis. “ White's the aggressor. Black... Black's just defending its territory. The Black King, whatever flaws they might have personally, is innocent in this war; they're just defending their people and their right to exist from the greedy hands of the White King's army. They're fighting in self-defense.”

Edelgard snorted in amusement, momentarily forgetting to make a move. “ That's an interesting theory I haven't heard before. Is that why you acquiesced when I asked to play White?”

“ Yep,” Claude said with a grin. “ Black's more heroic in my eyes. White can stop this war anytime, you know, they started it! Black's just responding to the moves of its enemy.”

“ Then why does Black have to wipe out White to win?” Edelgard asked, fighting a smirk. This was already the strangest conversation of her life that didn't involve the great life-or-death struggle gripping Fodlan, entirely because it was the most normal conversation she'd ever had with someone else. “ If they're just protecting themselves, why wouldn't they be able to win just by throwing all White pieces out of their territory?”

“ Because White's the one advancing,” Claude said. “ White doesn't stop until they've lost literally everything. Black has to go all-in, or the war never ends.”

“ You're very into this idea,” Edelgard mused. Claude clapped a hand dramatically to his chest.

“ I only speak truth. I ask you, when will it be enough? When will White finish hungering for more land and more territory? When will Black's citizens sleep in peace, fearing not the assault of their neighbor? When do Black's troops get to go home from the war?”

Edelgard finally stopped fighting her urge to smile, and gave him a grin at the absurd falsetto drama of his voice... and then proceeded to beat the crap out of him on the board. It was a pleasant day, and he asked to play with her again in a week; she acquiesced. This had been... nice. He was fun to talk to, at any rate.

( Later, she would reflect on this conversation, and wonder when Claude figured it all out.)

-

They end up playing the next week outside her dorm room, mostly because Edelgard wanted her own set to get some use. Hubert finds chairs easily enough, though his quirked eyebrow at what she wanted them for Edelgard will treasure; he's not sure what she's doing, and it's rare to cause Hubert to break his stoicism.

As for what she's doing... having fun, mostly. Even she is allowed a break, every now and then.

“ So, no hard feelings over Ferdinand's, err, defection?” Claude asks, as they get set up- Edelgard White, Claude Black, as ever.

“ Goddess, no,” Edelgard said, surprising herself a little with her honesty- but, why not? It was no secret. She must be guarded in so much, it won't hurt to be a little honest with Claude. The amusement in his grass-green eyes is reward enough for the truth; she likes his smile, even though it never quite touches his eyes. “ Ferdinand being gone from my House is a blessing. I should send your professor a bouquet. Do you know what she likes in flowers?”

“ Byleth mostly hands flowers _out_ , far as I can tell,” Claude admitted, as Edelgard set up the board. It was her board, after all, and he'd set up last time. Hers was far fancier than his, fit for a queen; pieces of good old Adrestian Gray Oak, firm and strong. As befit an Adrestian set, the king's crown was notably the one she would wear when she got home, though the Queens looked like Seiros, which she didn't much like. “ Especially to Rhea, whom I think she's got a thing for? And like, wow, that's weird to think about.”

Edelgard suppressed a laugh. If Claude knew the half of it... “ She may just be trying to curry favor with her boss. I don't think Rhea has ever had a relationship with _anyone_.”

“ Yeah, but if she's gonna start, it'll be with someone from my House,” Claude said, with something between a sigh and a laugh. “ Man, I'm torn between being grateful I got the most fun House, and envying you and Dimitri for having less exciting ones.”

“ I am grateful to lead the Eagles,” Edelgard said, which was a lie twice, because she was neither grateful to lead them, nor did she lead them. The Eagles were just people she shared a classsroom with. She moved a pawn out to attack him. “ As I'm sure Dimitri is to lead his Lions. We all have our own burdens.”

“ True,” Claude said, moving a pawn to match her, clearly trying her strategy from last time. That rather pleased Edelgard; it meant he'd paid attention to her own tactics, meant this might be more fun than last time's easy win. “ You bear the burdens of all Adrestia, Dimitri all of Faerghus, and I suffer the terrible grievance of being so handsome and charming and deceitful.”

Edelgard suppressed another laugh, thinking of what _she_ was being deceitful about. Claude was actually kind of cute, with his little bad boy act. Edelgard, who was _actually_ dangerous, thought it rather... adorable, to watch this puppy pretend to be an attack dog.

She prepared to run him down with her Knights, designed like pegasus riders in her set. “ Claiming villainy again? I thought you liked Black's heroic nature?”

“ I never said I was _evil_ , just deceitful,” Claude disclaimed, and moved to defend his poor troops from their eternal foe.

“ W-what are you guys doing?” came a timid tone. Edelgard turned her head to see... the purple-haired girl who was never in class. One of hers... What was her name again?

“ Bernie!” Claude announced cheerfully, answering Edelgard's unspoken question. “ Just playing a quick round. Edelgard's gonna kill me. Wanna watch your boss kick my ass?”

The shy, stuttering girl shrank back from the bright spirit of Claude, but he seemed welcoming, so she managed to say, “ Umm, I'll just watch from here if that's ok.”

“ Sure,” Claude said, “ unless Edelgard's got a problem with it. Do you, princess?”

She was rather taken aback at having an audience... and she didn't like that nickname, seemed a bit insulting, the way it rolled around on his tongue... but she had literally not known the girl's name despite her wearing an Eagle's badge, so what harm could be done? “ I'm not opposed to it.”

And so Bernie began to watch. No one else came, which was good, as Bernie would have run if there had been anyone else- but it was just the three of them. Edelgard, at first conscious of the purple-haired girl's presence, was soon drawn into Claude's banter and focused on him, and led her wooden troops to a hard-fought victory over Claude. Bernie cheered when she won, surprising Edelgard, who had entirely forgotten she was there.

“ I... err, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Bernie said, shrinking back.

Edelgard was assaulted with memories, so strong, so close.

( Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, shrinking back but they never listened, the Agarthans never listened, they thought her protests were _funny_. Edelgard has asked people all her life to stop hurting her; no one ever listens. No one ever _stops_.)

“ You did nothing of the sort,” Edelgard said, the words all out in a rush, so unlike her usual calm, considered words. “ My apologies, Bernie. Please, stay, you're in no danger here.”

That was too much, Edelgard caught Claude out of the corner of her eye hearing her word and _hearing_ her, for just a second the mask of Edelgard, Adrestian Princess had slipped and Edelgard the Person had spoken out of her mouth. Bernie heard it too, the phrasing there, that no one who had never suffered would use in that way, her eyes strangely shadowed for a second.

She shouldn't have said that... but... how much harm could it really do?

“ Okay,” Bernie said. “ Umm... I... I like board games... do you... do you play anything else?”

Claude didn't, and ended up having to leave when Ignatz came running up- apparently Leonie had beat the shit out of some guy for not taking the no of another student for an answer, which demanded his immediate attention and warranted his extreme approval- but Edelgard decided she could spend a little more time at play. There was nothing going on at this exact moment, even in her busy life, and Bernadetta's quiet request... well. She felt that _somebody_ should answer it, and... and there was still that moment, in which Edelgard had spoken truth in Garreg Mach for the first time, that united them.

So, somewhat shyly, she introduced Bernadetta to her room, and to her small collection of- if she must be honest with herself- toys. Her personal room was not a dangerous place to let others into- it held none of her secrets, her and Hubert were no amateurs at this game of espionage and lies- but it was still something almost safe for her, and letting this girl in felt... revealing.

Bernadetta seemed to get that, though, she stepped lightly in, kept her eyes to the floor until Edelgard told her she could look. It made Edelgard feel... respected, in a way the required honors of others did not. This was a personal kind of regard, born of... similarity. Between the Emperor and a Count's daughter, a moment of understanding...

“ What would you like to play?” she asked, and Bernie smiled as she quietly looked through them.

They settled on a cooperative game, not a competitive one, which was an entirely new experience for Edelgard; she had not even played that kind of game in private as a solo exercise. She only had games like that because she collected board games. After a few minutes figuring out the rules, they... had fun, Edelgard supposed.

_Not like I'd recognize it_ , she thought sardonically.

Bernadetta thanks her, and shyly asks if they can play again, and somehow, Edelgard agrees to play again in a week. Bernadetta misses that week, she can't work up the willpower to come outside, but she makes it the next week.

Her pleading apologies sound so familiar to Edelgard's ears- sound so much like her own desperate attempts to get the Agarthans to _stop_ \- that the Princess, who has strength enough to overturn the world, finds that she is not strong enough to do anything but forgive Bernadetta, and play another game with her.

She does it every time Bernadetta can work up the courage, and soon it becomes easier for the little purple archer, who learns to stop apologizing to her, and so it is that quiet, timid Bernadetta, of all people in the world, becomes something like a friend to the Flame Emperor. Small, scared Bernadetta, who becomes friends with Edelgard, whose mouth is more open when her mind is distracted with play, who ends up telling Edelgard all about her fellow Eagles. From the least social member of her class, Edelgard comes to learn all the gossip and talk, comes to see them through the shy girl's eyes; learns of Dorothea's incredible kindness, of Petra's great bravery, of Caspar's fearlessness and Linhardt's gentleness. Edelgard learns more through the cipher of the purple-haired girl than she had ever bothered to learn on her own, and wonders if she is doing her classmates a disservice in not engaging with them more.

An irony, that the least talkative girl in her class is the one who should convince her to seek out social interaction... but perhaps she will invite them to play with her, as well. A board game is a safe thing, and her weekly meetings with Claude are so known and noticed that no one will find it odd if she seeks out more opponents. Perhaps after her next game with Claude...

Another fit of irony, that what started out as just Claude's whim might well give her a chance to break the ice.

Irony... usually more suited to Claude and his dysfunctional house... but she _has_ been spending a lot of time with him. Perhaps the gold rubs off on her.

Perhaps she should spend less time with the great stag... but she enjoys his presence too much. So she plays Claude, once a week, like clockwork. It is her favored form of relaxation; gentle talk, and beating him senseless as he laments innocent Black's losses.

It is, perversely, the happiest time of her life since her hair changed color.

-

Almost two months in, while she and Claude are playing that next game, and she is wondering who to invite to play first, Petra and Dorothea pass nearby.

Dorothea is taking off to the small town at Garreg Mach's base, and she is cheerfully talking to Petra, switching between the flowing words of Brigid and Fodlese depending on topic, having dedicated herself to learning the language once she knew that Petra found it easier to speak on some topics in her own native tongue. Just a kindness, the songstress had explained with a laugh when Caspar had asked, as though learning an entirely new language was a simple thing between friends, as though all the things she does for Petra are simple things and not great acts of devotion.

Petra, walking beside her, knows better, knows what a great thing it is. She looks moonstruck, she is staring at Dorothea as though stars and glory and wonder are trailing off of her, utterly enraptured by her presence. Petra, the solid and steady sun, chases this brilliant, shifting moon, helpless to do anything but follow like the trail of a comet. She walks alongside the songstress, but the princess of Brigid is still chasing after her all the same.

Claude shakes his head.

“ How does she not know?” he asks, the same question on the lips of everyone in Garreg Mach these days. Even Hubert, who doesn't really care, thinks it's hilarious, the stoic man had shared one of his rare laughs with Edelgard when they had turned to discussing it- even in their lives, there is room for idle chit-chat, at times.

Hubert had enjoyed that conversation mightily. He loves irony, after all, and this is a delicious feast of it- that Dorothea, who came here to snag a rich husband, has one of the wealthiest and highest women here wrapped around her little finger, and knows it not.

“ No idea,” Edelgard admitted. Edelgard knows of romantic love only by story and tale, but even she can see the depths of Petra's devotion, which makes it even more absurd that Dorothea does _not_. “ I think... well, I'd hate to presume.”

“ I'd still be interested in your thoughts, if you want to share them,” Claude asks, prodding gently. He's always so _curious_ ; but this is a harmless subject, so Edelgard indulges him. Besides, she likes the way he seems pleased at any revelation, no matter how small, and this will not cost her anything.

“ I think that Dorothea, once she decided Petra needed protecting, effectively lost track of her,” Edelgard offered, but that doesn't feel... quite right. It _sounds_ nice, but she doesn't think it's true.

So, hesitantly, she says, a little more honestly, “ Or... or Dorothea cannot believe it, because it seems too good to be true. She wants someone to love her, and she wants to marry someone rich; for Petra to just fall in her lap... she cannot believe it. Her luck's never been that good.”

She shuts her mouth, because that's... that's a little close to home, a little too close for comfort. It is... nothing good ever _happens_ to Edelgard, she always has to _take_ it. Even Claude is no gift, because someday she must kill him; her life is a series of disasters mitigated only by whatever power she has managed to earn.

Claude nods, then sighs as he moves a Bishop forward.

“ Someone should tell her,” he says.

“ They should,” Edelgard agrees, as she moves a Knight up to defend against the Bishop, and Claude grins.

“ And then they can name their first kid after the person who told them to get on with it,” Claude said with amusement as he threw a pawn out as bait.

“ You know they're both women, right?” Edelgard said, quirking an eyebrow as she pondered her next move. “ That's... I mean, they could adopt, but that's not how it works, otherwise.”

“ I'm sure there's a spell for it,” Claude said, and Edelgard had barked a surprised laugh at the idea.

“ What would... I... I suppose I can see the sense of that,” Edelgard admitted. Her own tastes had always run to women and men both, after all, though Adrestians generally just took on lovers if they wanted children to raise with their partner. “ Though I'm not aware of any such spell, and as the Adrestian princess, I'm fairly sure I would know.”

“ Honestly, I'm more surprised it doesn't exist,” Claude admitted as he moved a pawn up. “ You'd think Adrestians would have invented it already. You need to make that the top priority of your reign, Edelgard.”

“ I'll add it to the list,” Edelgard said, amused in secret as she imagined what _that_ list would look like if she had ever dared write it down. _Step 1: Kill the inhuman monster pretending to be the Archbishop. Step 2: Conquer Fodlan. Step 3: Kill the Agarthans. Step 4: Abolish nobility and Crest system. Step 5: Spell for same-sex parents to conceive..._

That's all they say on it, moving on to other topics, as Edelgard- once again- crushes him. He makes her lose her Queen this time, though; she's almost proud of him. But victory is hers, once again.

But over the next few days, even as she plans her first attack, she still thinks of Dorothea and Petra. It's the strangest thing. A most able siren is Dorothea; without meaning to do so, she has ensnared royalty with her song. Somewhat literally, too- Hubert has reported that Dorothea sang for Petra in a secluded part of the monastery, late at night, and that Petra looked like she was entirely lost, lost and happy to be so, drunk on love.

But Edelgard knows the real heart of it- knows the _real_ siren song that Dorothea sang, that has so captivated the heart of a princess. She knows that Dorothea, at no one's command, seeking no gain, went up to Petra and offered her all the aid she could ever want, entirely because she worried that the foreign-born girl would have no friends or allies here. She did not win Petra's heart in some aria of courage or clever duet, but by the simple and honest little whistle of a tune called kindness, and it is the sweetest love story in Garreg Mach's walls... if only someone could get her to know it.

But Dorothea never notices. Dorothea, of all people, who is usually so smart. Dorothea, who is so... she is the most perceptive person here, she is the one Black Eagle Edelgard, now that she actually knows something of her classmates- if only through Bernie's words- thinks might stand a chance of figuring her out, though Edelgard fears no trouble from her. Dorothea has no army or land, and Dorothea's not stupid enough to endanger herself by speaking of such knowledge to anyone. Dorothea is also the _wisest_ person in Garreg Mach, saving perhaps Mercedes, after all, and would be well aware that to even _hint_ that she knew would be to make a target of herself; no one would believe her, anyway.

But despite all this perception and wisdom... Dorothea doesn't know. Edelgard knows this for certain, knows she is not faking it; Dorothea is a tremendously skilled liar, but this is a bridge too far. She wouldn't be able to go on like she does if she _did_ notice, and her will to protect Petra is so pure that it cannot be questioned; Edelgard is not the only person to have heard the long, _scathing_ diatribes Dorothea has launched into at guards and merchants who see Petra's foreign skin and let scorn drip from their lips.

Even Knights of Seiros are not safe from the opera star, though at least one of those incidents was resolved with Claude's help. He approves, after all, his skin is not so different from Petra's. When a Knight decided to mock Dorothea's orphan status and low birth, retaliating against her haranguing of him for mocking Petra, Claude had stepped in and point-blank obliterated the man with six words, six words that sent the man gasping and fleeing.

Hubert, who had been shadowing Claude at the time, had reported that the six words were “I know the secret you're hiding.” The man had requested a transfer to a different unit that _night_ , Hubert found out later.

Edelgard had clapped for joy on hearing it, delighted and impressed, and even Hubert had grudgingly admitted he had some admiration for it- especially since, when Dorothea asked what the secret was after the man ran off, Claude had shrugged and said he had no idea. He'd been guessing the man had one; most of the Knights had some dark past, after all, it seemed to be Rhea's preferred method of recruitment, to hunt down folks who could not leave the Church for any reason, who needed its sanctuary. From salvation seekers had she made soldiers.

Edelgard was impressed to hear his thoughts stated like that; Claude was closer to the truth than many, and he an outsider. A terribly smart man, the handsome Deer was, but precious, too, precious as the gold decorating his banner.

Claude was a treasure, and though Edelgard could not keep him in her hoard, she could at least admire how he shined... and so for one moment, just one moment, Edelgard makes herself forget that she must kill him, and simply takes delight in his victory.

She further takes delight in Hubert's amusement, as he details the situation further. When the Knight had stepped forward to fire back in their exchange of words, Petra had put her hand to her knife. The royalty of Brigid had been willing to tackle a full-grown, armored veteran with nothing more than a knife, all for a street rat... and somehow, Dorothea was _still_ oblivious.

If Petra was not naturally an upbeat person, she would be more depressed than _Marianne_ over it all, and Hubert and his Emperor share another laugh over the absurdity of it all.

Four days into Edelgard's amusement, the Tomb happens, and all the world goes to shit.

-

The Tomb is an utter failure for many reasons. Edelgard feels... stupid. Angry. To be beaten by the Golden Deer, even with Claude leading them... she wasn't leading the attack, but what the hell were her minions thinking? It was the _Golden Deer_ , not even the Blue Lions, they were full-trained soldiers and the Deer were dumbass kids! Only Claude and Lysithea were worth anything... well, they _did_ have that mercenary, and Edelgard had already seen how skilled she was. Byleth... maybe that was all it was, that Byleth was present.

And what were they even doing there? They'd done everything right- tricked Rhea into increasing her security in the wrong areas, fake death threats, they'd even thrown goddamn Lonato at her just to increase the pressure. So much death, and all for... for nothing! Adrestian lives, _wasted_... and Faerghus lives wasted, too. She feels no guilt for that- if Lonato had cared so much, he should not have called his banners. That's not her fault.

( _Oh yes it is_ , the voice of truth whispers, as her rage strangles it... but not before it gets the last word in. _Would he have done it without whispering in his ear? What you and your allies do is your fault..._ )

Still, new questions ricocheted around her skull. Where the hell was the Crest Stone? And the Sword of the Creator... a lot was going on. Edelgard had the sense that she was standing on the edge of some great revelation, a pit she could not see that would swallow her whole if she was not careful...

A story she heard once pops into her head- three blind men, all trying to describe an elephant, each touching one part and declaring they had the whole. Edelgard felt like those three blind men, save that she had the frustrating knowledge that she _didn't_ see the whole thing... what was she _missing_?...

The nightmares come back in the wake of her soldier's failure. The old ones, her siblings dead, the dungeons and the knives and the pain, but new ones to join them; the faces of her dead soldiers, who believed in her, the faces of the dead knights of Faerghus, Lord Lonato's tormented visage, and the sound of Ashe sobbing, his father dead to fulfill her dreams.

For four days, she cannot sleep. The nightmares had receded considerably in these last few days, but this failure raises the waters high, and even Hubert's tricks with chamomile and magic cannot grant her more than a few moments of sleep a night. Even Edelgard's supernaturally-enhanced constitution cannot keep her going under these conditions; she had passed out earlier today, lain whimpering in her room, and Hubert had told Manuela she was feeling sick.

It had gotten her three hours of sleep before her suffering was such that she was jolted awake; and now, late in the evening, she is walking around, by herself, struggling with herself, the way she has always done. No wonder she dreams of conquering all Fodlan and destroying Rhea, alive a thousand years; compared to mastering her own traumas, any task would feel smaller. Her lack of sleep and exhaustion leave the world a dizzy blur of half-recalled horrors and the world as it really is; things slither in the dark, not just in Fodlan but inside her skull, too.

So she is out late evening, out a'walking, when she sees Dorothea by herself, on some personal errand or another. Edelgard looks at her, and thinks to herself that she cannot _stomach_ watching someone be so oblivious. If Edelgard cannot find the answers she's looking for, she can at least provide answers to another, instead of watching this endless circling.

“ Dorothea,” she calls out. Dorothea stops and turns.

“ Yes, Edelgard?” she replies, all easy poise.

“ Petra is in love with you,” Edelgard says to the songstress, a bit louder than necessary, lobbing it into the conversation with all the gentle delicacy of an avalanche. She's too tired to be more subtle.

“ What?” Dorothea says, blinking, stunned to near senselessness from that hammer blow of a sentence.

Edelgard realizes that this is literally the first real conversation they have ever had outside of a classroom, but Edelgard plows forward anyway. What the hell. She's so tired.

“ Petra is in love with you, has been since your first meeting, when you offered to do anything she asked, and it has only grown due to all your kind acts,” Edelgard said in a rush. “ Go to her, talk to her about it. Tell her you love her back, or even reject her, but _deal with it_. Watching you walk around oblivious is giving me a headache.”

Dorothea drew up, defensively. “ I... no offense, Edelgard, but I... I don't think Petra wants me like that... I mean, I'm around her all the time! I think I'd notice!”

“ I don't care about you,” Edelgard finished, feeling stupid. What was she doing? Why was she getting involved in this? Anger and sleeplessness rose up in her and she snapped the rest out. “ I don't care about you or Petra enough to lie about this, Dorothea. I just... I'm tired of seeing it go without resolution. Just... _look_ at her when she's with you. Really look at her.”

And with that, Edelgard left, angry with herself for being angry, and tried desperately to sleep again, failing miserably.

When Edelgard finally awakes, she is up for a few minutes before there is a gentle knock on her door.

-

She staggered up to the door, still dysfunctional but not _as_ dysfunctional, and opened the door.

Dorothea is out there... and she looks like she has been blinded by the sun. She looks light-headed, she looks like she has received a religious vision, she looks like she has seen Paradise. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears and wonder.

“ Princess Edelgard,” she said, and her voice was so soft, so full of genuine _respect_ , for the first time she addressed Edelgard with something like _awe_ in her voice, that even in her current state Edelgard felt a little... touched. “ I am sorry to bother you. I know you haven't been sleeping well- I thought I'd bring some things for you. They might help.”

“ I... what?” Edelgard replied, blinking.

“ I can tell because you are stumbling from class to class,” Dorothea said, glancing around as if to see who is listening, “ and because I know how stress can keep even a strong person awake at night. I... I _know_ what endless nights without sleep can do to you, Edelgard. You can hide it from everyone else but I lie a lot too, Edelgard.”

She smiled at her, holding out a small bag of dried herbs.

“ You helped me,” Dorothea said, with the smallest smile. “ I... I spoke with her.”

“ It went well?” Edelgard asked, despite herself, as she eyed the bag of foreign substances. At the very least, she was curious.

Dorothea smiled, a smile that didn't look right on her face- not until Edelgard realized it was the first real, honest, _genuine_ smile she'd ever seen Dorothea make.

“ She loves me,” Dorothea whispered, as though saying it too loudly would dispel the miracle of it, as if she might ruin it by acknowledging it. Her face was so... stunned. So surprised. “ She... she loves me. Petra, my sweet Petra, she loves me... She... I loved her too, especially as I got to know her and her magnificent heart, but I knew it would never be, she was a princess and I'm a street rat and it was just Ingrid, all over again, so I j-just... I locked up my heart and decided to help her... but she loves me. She's a princess, a real princess, she's everything I ever imagined one to be and I'm just gutter trash b-but she _wants_ me the way I want _her_...”

She took a sobbing breath in.

“ Please don't cry, Dorothea,” Edelgard offered. “ I...”

Nothing polite came to her exhausted mind, so the mask of Edelgard the Emperor slipped again, and Edelgard the Person spoke out.

“ Dorothea, I have no fucking idea how to deal with crying people, please don't cry on my doorstep.”

Hearing Edelgard speak so crassly knocked Dorothea out of her spiraling loop of joyful sorrow, knocked her out of it so hard she _laughed_ , a high and musical sound like cheerful flutes, she laughed and laughed and Edelgard, a moment later, joined her, her delight catching fire inside even her restless and weary soul.

“ Edelgard, Edie... you are a treasure,” Dorothea said. She smiled at her, and held the bag out again. “ Mix this with boiling water and drink it. It won't end the nightmares, but it'll take the edge off and let you sleep.”

Edelgard took the bag, intending to have Hubert check it for poisons. “ How do you know about this?”

“ Mittelfrank made harsh demands of its workers,” Dorothea said. “ We all used a lot of apothecary supplements to do our jobs, especially the older actors and actresses, who often used various mixes to give themselve energy. Due to my youth, I never needed anything to wake me up, but I _did_ have a lot of trouble sleeping, either stress or excitement keeping me up- and that meant I did poorly when on stage, and you can't have that!”

She smiled again. “ Anyway, that recipe is one I seduced out of a rather excellent herbalist in Enbarr- trust me, it's great stuff. I can give you the recipe if it works for you. It only has one real side effect- you will sweat like mad. Seriously, you will sweat like a burning horse. It's terrible. Awful. Makes the clothes stick to you- but that's it! Drink a lot of water and you'll be fine.”

“ Thank you,” Edelgard said, though she gave the bag a look of dubious intent. “ A pleasant gift.”

“ It's... it's the literal least I could do. You... I have my Petra now, Edelgard. I love her, and she loves me, and... and I think we'll be alright.”

Edelgard managed to smile at her. This was well-done, at least.

“ Just name the first kid you have after me,” she replied, stealing a joke from Claude, and Dorothea laughed again.

“ Maybe we will. Anyway, call on me if you need anything! After all...”

Dorothea paused, for a moment, then said, “ You are my Emperor. Now and always... no matter what.”

A very deliberate phrasing, jolting Edelgard awake with sheer fear- Emperor, my Emperor, she didn't have that title yet but her other self did- was Dorothea suggesting- but _how?_

Dorothea stood there, brave and brilliant eyed... and Edelgard, after a long moment, swallowed heavily against those words, against what they _meant_ , and thought of how hard they must have been for Dorothea to say, how the songstress was forced to lie to powerful people all her life to get where she was, and how much safer it would have been for Dorothea to pretend ignorance of Edelgard's... other self.

She thought of how brave this nobody was being, she thought of love stories with happy endings, and... and isn't it nice that there are at least two people, in all the world, who will not think poorly of Edelgard, should all her plans come to ruin?

What to say to that? Edelgard opened her mouth and

“ No harm will come to you by my hand, or the hand of any I command,” Edelgard intoned, up until she said it not entirely sure what she would say. “ For I _am_ your Emperor, and you... are one of my Eagles.”

Dorothea smiled at that, and they shook hands, one woman of strength to another, and when the door closed, Edelgard looked at the small bag of leaves.

Could be poison. Perhaps.

But it would be nice to _trust_ somebody.

Perhaps she was just tired... too tired to make rational decisions... but Edelgard made herself a cup, a little fire in her hands providing heat to boil the water, and did not consult Hubert.

-

The remedy is soothing, and each sip fills her throat and her lungs with the flavorful smells of the hot broth, coating her insides like a pleasurable burn. In thirty minutes, she lays down, and despite her fears, the elixir blunts the edge of her nightmares; she still has them, but she does not remember them in the morning, and they are not strong enough to wake her. She gets a full night's sleep, and then some, recovering from her pain.

Dorothea had kept her word. It was not poison in that bag, but medicine, and Edelgard is better rested than she has been in a long time.

She'll have to get the recipe from her.

( Though Dorothea wasn't kidding about the sweating. A shower later, and Edelgard _still_ didn't feel clean.)

That day, she feels well enough to play again, and she and Claude enjoy another pleasant game in the sunlight.


	2. Friendship, In Passante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raised chapter number to 4, but this isn't a Verdant Flower, Crimson Wind situation; I have the ending written already. It just breaks up nicer in 4 compared to 3 chapters.
> 
> Hope ya'll like this huge chapter! It's got chess and assassinations and roses in it!

**Friendship, In Passante**

The herbal formula turns out to be solid; Hubert harangues her for taking it without precautions and insists on giving her a medical examination, but she's in fine health, and when he gets the recipe from Dorothea and tries it out on himself, he confirms that it's an excellent sleeping aid. It's a shame so many herbalists and potion makers keep the secrets of their elixirs to themselves; so many little secrets like this one, that could help so many if they were only widespread. It's another thing that goes on Edelgard's list of things she must change in the future.

This particular mix is potent enough that even Edelgard gets regular sleep out of it; and given her nightmares, it means it may be the best sleeping aid in the _world._ There are many for whom it would be a boon, a relief, a granting of peace, but it is dumb luck that Dorothea knew of it... there had to be a better way.

While the sweating is a frankly gross side effect, Hubert is able to come up with an ameliorant soon enough, and it's not like Edelgard can't afford to shower in the morning and evening both. Compared to getting some sleep- and to forgetting her nightmares- she'd forgive almost any set of side effects, much less one so easily remedied.

She tells Hubert that Dorothea knows, that she has pieced it together, though Edelgard's not sure how. The Flame Emperor is all anyone is talking about at Garreg Mach, she finds out from Hubert- she'd been so out of it the last few days she hadn't paid attention- but Dorothea must be terrifyingly perceptive to have worked it out from the limited information available to her.

As for what to do about it, Hubert offers the obvious option of assassination, but Edelgard rejects it. If Dorothea wanted her dead, or to blackmail her, she would not have told her; she'd have told Rhea, or sent an anonymous letter. Hubert agrees, which surprises Edelgard, given his usual paranoia... but he simply points out that her actions make no sense for her to be anything but, well, honest, and so, wonder of wonders, even Hubert thinks she should be left be.

She will not be trusted with anything important... but she will not be _dis_ trusted, precisely. An unknown quantity, but not one that is necessarily opposed. Dorothea had called Edelgard her Emperor, after all... and it delights Edelgard a little, to be called that, with tones of respect.

So the strange woman is to be left alone... and strange she is, oh yes. Most strange, that Dorothea knows, and decides not to speak of it; but Dorothea went from orphaned bastard to opera singer and now consort of a princess, so perhaps it is not all that odd, that she should do the unexpected. She is not commoner or nobility, after all, she is different...

_A freak, just like me_ , Edelgard thinks, which is a thought that almost brings her to a standstill. She... she hasn't thought like that before, but... well. What else can she call herself? Between her twin Crests, her Imperial position, and her plans... well. She's a freak. Unique. Like Dorothea.

It inspires her next thought; she should invite Dorothea to play with her.

-

“ Would you like to play a round?” Edelgard asks Dorothea, in their third conversation. Perhaps there is truth to the rumor of power in threes; it has taken her three conversations to go from growling out truths to Dorothea and Dorothea giving it back for them to have a normal conversation about something minor. They are both standing outside after class, Manuela being an able teacher entirely despite herself.

( Edelgard has had to restrain herself from attacking the teacher at times. Edelgard cannot _stand_ such... such _sloppiness_. Someone as regimented and formal as Edelgard cannot help but hate the walking disaster that is Manuela, who seems to exist primarily to stagger from one mistake to the next.)

“ Sure!” Dorothea said with a smile. “ Don't hold it against me if I beat you, though. You strike me as the competitive type, and I know you beat Claude every time, but I don't intend to go down so easily.”

“ I do,” Edelgard said with amusement. “ I wouldn't mind a more challenging opponent. Claude tries, but his cunning doesn't translate into good play. How often have you played?”

“ I spent three of the most pleasant months playing almost every day,” Dorothea said. “ It's actually a pretty funny tale, I'll tell you the story as we set up. White or Black?”

“I was going to leave the choice to you,” Edelgard said, as they walked back to the dorms. Her table and chairs were out there, courtesy of Hubert, who did not trust the Knight of Seiros who had offered to help. They'd been quite courteous, which made Edelgard wonder how many would die when she did what she did...

( _No, silence your regrets_ , said her rage. _Silence, silence, silence. You have committed. Be silent!_ )

But that is a problem for later. Even if Hubert had admitted he thought innocent days were behind him, and that he found all this pleasant...

( _You could be better,_ truth whispered, even her rage unable to totally strangle it. Truth was the one weapon against which there was no defense. _You owe Hubert so much. You could be better than this. You already ordered him to turn down Ferdinand, and they had both felt something..._ )

They reached the table just as she finished wrestling her feelings down, Dorothea answering her question with a cheerful, “ Black! I know you always play White, so I see no reason not to let you continue in that fine tradition. I suspect making the first move suits you, anyway.”

It sounded totally innocent, if you didn't know about what Edelgard really was. More of that... truth Dorothea knew, that no one else did. But if anyone existed who could keep a secret, Edelgard supposed, it was an actress...

“ It does,” Edelgard agreed. “ So, I believe you had a story to tell?”

“ Oh, of course,” Dorothea said, as she sat down. Hubert appeared a moment later, asking if either wished for a drink. Edelgard declined, though Dorothea asked for a glass of water, which Hubert dutifully brought as Dorothea regaled Edelgard.

“ I was never really considered a viable candidate for marriage while I was with the Opera,” Dorothea began, sitting back casually, as delicate and poised as an artist's rendition of youthful beauty. Edelgard, who lied too, recognized it for the artifice it was, even as she admired how well-crafted the image was. “ Despite my popularity, I was still a commoner, and while I was able to disguise my true origins with a few careful stories and Manuela's help, there are some things you simply aren't prepared for when you shift social classes. I could tell stories of embarrassing myself before nobility for days, but I do not wish to relive those events, nor watch you shudder in secondhand shame. I caught on eventually, of course, but it took long enough that everyone was aware that my true origins weren't noble.”

“ I have often thought that the numerous and, frankly, meaningless social rules of noble society were invented primarily for that very purpose,” Edelgard mused as she made the first move. “ An attempt to catch commoners 'infiltrating', if you catch my drift.”

“ Oh, I do,” Dorothea said, as she made her own opening move and took a drink. “ Better than anyone. At any rate, while quite a few noblemen were interesting in using my services for some... rather fascinating and vulgar things, none were interested in marrying me, though multiple men asked- or demanded- I be their mistress. The only one of those I ever seriously entertained was one old charmer... I believe he was a Hevring cousin... who laid out in no uncertain terms what he wanted, offered me _quite_ a substantial salary for the job, and even introduced me to his current mistress. Sweet lady! Just getting on in years and wanted to retire. Apparently old age had not diminished the man's vigor.”

“ What of his wife?” Edelgard asked, moving another pawn.

“ Her tastes had always run towards women, and he was quite understanding of that. Arranged marriage, of course. While they'd had a few kids, they both agreed they were better friends than lovers,” Dorothea said, moving up a Knight. “ And great friends they were indeed; he introduced me to her and her mistress, as well. Quite friendly, they got along well. I liked them better than the other nobles, who seemed to think that being common-born meant I had to suffer their affections. He was a true gentleman, not a brute.”

Dorothea sighed, then gave an ugly chuckle. “ Want to know a horrible truth? I was groped more often after getting into the Opera than I was on the streets. Isn't that awful?”

“ I... I don't know what to say,” Edelgard sighed, looking away. The Agarthans had not touched her, but that did not mean they had not hurt her in that way, too; they had left her unharmed entirely because they hoped to someday use her as breeding stock for more weapons, and were going to wait until after she proved her worth to begin such... experiments.

She knew that was the plan because they'd talked about it openly in front of her, and even ordered her to sleep with no one, for fear of harming those future expierments. She still remembered those conversations, couldn't forget them; a discussion in which she was the focus of the conversation, but was not allowed to participate. She wasn't allowed to be in control of anything, even who she chose to fuck...

( _But reckoning is coming_ , her rage and her truth both said. Her rage wasn't always wrong, and truth did not always disagree with it. Against Agartha, all her fury was justified.)

Dorothea looked at her with those clever, piercing eyes, and saw Edelgard's reaction, then said, gently and quietly, “ I apologize. I... didn't think you would understand so well.”

Huh. No wonder Dorothea figured out the Flame Emperor; from that minute action, she had deciphered that Edelgard had a history with such suffering.

Edelgard shook her head. “ It doesn't matter.”

“ It absolutely does, but if you do not wish to talk about it, I have no qualms with moving on,” Dorothea said.

“ Please,” Edelgard said, and Dorothea moved as smoothly as she had once slipped from verse to verse.

“ I know this game so well because of a rather lovely suitor. Oh, and it's your move, Edie.”

Edelgard jumped- a bit surprised at how affected she'd been- as Dorothea's clear voice told her story, and Edelgard made her move.

“ Once, only once, did a marriage proposal come to me. He was a young man, descendant of the von Aegir family- a cousin branch, one not nearly so rich as the main branch, but one with substantial assets. They had an unusually strong-willed and strongly intelligent son, who had chosen his own romantic partner- a girl from an opposed noble family. She was much like him, just as independent and just as smart, and she chose him, too; a rather sweet love story, if I'm to be honest. The partnership wasn't a bad one either, not by any means; it was of appropriate stature and station, and brought economic advantages to both families. Really, his parents should have been thrilled.”

Dorothea sipped her water, smirking, as Edelgard thought on that.

“ I once read someone who stated that 'should' is the most powerful word in any language, except maybe the word 'but”,” Edelgard mused as she moved a pawn. Dorothea moved her Knight again, dancing around her forces. Hmm. This was very careful play, and cautious.

“ It is!” Dorothea said. “ Should is _very_ powerful, particularly when dealing with the absurd. You see, the two fathers involved were petty and stupid, like most nobles. They were both the kind of men who could not stand the idea that other people had their own ideas, who had to be the corpse at every funeral and the preacher at every wedding. They wanted to make the decision, so forget that their children were smart, skilled and happy with each other, forget that the match would improve both houses; it wasn't _their_ idea, so it had to go.”

“ But what was the point?” Edelgard said, noticing that Dorothea's dancing Knights were now well-positioned to do some damage in her backline. She moved more pawns, realizing the damage was done and committing to a big, swinging block of pawns, hoping to overwhelm her opponent even when her backline was destroyed..

“ The point was 'Do what I say',” Dorothea snorted. “ All rationality and logic meant they should not just acquiesce, but _eagerly_ assist the young couple. Unfortunately, as far too many philosophers and economists both forget, people are not rational beings. It was more important to both men that their children obey them. The two men hatched a scheme; they'd marry the boy and the girl off quickly to other people. Mostly worse arrangements, which again- not rational. It was more important to teach their children that they could _not_ choose, then it was to choose _well_. Especially dumb on the boy's father's part... he would have been marrying _up_. But they tried to marry him off, even to a commoner.”

“ That was you, I assume?”

“ Yes, eventually. I was the last try, though. Before me, the two managed to sink every possible noble match, either through disgust or bribery, though given some of the jokes they made, I'm not entirely unsure they didn't _assassinate_ some of the possible choices. After months of this, in desperation, the boy's father sent him to me, while the girl was sent to one of our handsomest baritones. They hoped teenage hormones might overwhelm their good sense.”

“ Sounds like a foolish plan,” Edelgard commented, as Dorothea finished her drink and one of Edelgard's Rooks at the same time. Edelgard continued her commitment to a steady, bashing pawn advance as Dorothea kept talking.

“ It was. These two had more sense than their fathers had ever had, and had held strong through all this bombardment; the boy didn't even look at me twice. He even apologized for his father's idiocy, the sweetheart. Julian, his name was. Julian Capul.”

Edelgard actually vaguely knew who that was; a very minor noble house, sworn to House Bergliez. Handsome man, excellent swordfighter. His father had died about... two years ago? But his wife was the one she actually knew, a Ramea Montag, who had been making a name for herself as a genius financier. “ I know him,” Edelgard said, making her own moves. “ Well, I know his wife. She does a lot of financial work.”

“ She's sharp as a tack,” Dorothea said, continuing to play as she talked, her and Edelgard's pieces clicking and clacking as they moved and countermoved. “ Julian introduced me to her once they were finally engaged, and they often patronized the Mittelfrank when they were in Enbarr. I'm proud to count Julian as a friendly acquaintance; sweet man.”

“ At any rate, he was sent to me, and his father told him he wasn't allowed to come back until we were married. He had no intention of doing that, and I had no intention of marrying him against his wishes, so we spent three months meeting once a day, pretending to be having a rather torrid affair. That's what he told his father, anyway; in truth, we sat in the main parlor, and we played this to pass the time.”

“ Is that where you learned?” Edelgard asked. Dorothea's knights finally stopped attacking her backline and started trying to stop the white wave closing in on her king, but it was too little, too late; by weight of numbers, the smallest pieces were going to overwhelm her.

“ It is,” Dorothea said. “ I knew the basics beforehand, it was part of our etiquette training, but I never used it for anything until Julian showed up. He was an avid player; it was apparently over such a game he and his lady met.”

“ How romantic,” Edelgard deadpanned, and Dorothea giggled.

“ Oh, but isn't it?” Dorothea answered teasingly, as Edelgard's wave of pawns began to tear her defenses down. “ I mean, that's how you and Claude spend _your_ dates.”

Edelgard, caught off-guard, blushed _,_ and Dorothea giggled. It reminded Edelgard of her older sisters, of how they'd interacted with each other, and something sharp and _hurting_ pierced her chest, a need and loneliness so deep that it burned. She wanted that, she wanted... if her sisters had lived, would one be like Dorothea? All warm teasing and motherly tenderness, would she have...

Edelgard swallowed heavy against the weight of her feelings, and so burdened, she did not reject Dorothea's words, or get angry with her, but opted instead simply to tell the truth.

“ We are not anything, and we will never be,” Edelgard the Person said, and did not say the greater truths; that she wanted it, that she would never have it, that her dreams demanded his death.

( Regret, so sharp, so strong, regret like wildfire in her soul.)

Dorothea's eyes grew soft, and something in Edelgard keened for that regard, wanted to lean on the older girl's wisdom.

“ I guess not,” Dorothea said. “ But... if you'll permit me a bit of advice... wanting him doesn't have to be a regret, Edelgard. Caring for someone can be a light inside you, a pebble in your pocket to keep... I have fond memories of a rare few, Edie. It never was, and it never happened, and it never went where I hoped it would... but I am better for having loved them. Wiser. Keep the joy, and accept the pain; pain can be a good thing. Some pain sharpens our taste for good things, the way darkness makes us appreciate light, cold makes us care for warmth... the way being underwater reminds one of how good the air tastes. You can be better for having loved him, Edie, it doesn't have to hurt.”

Edelgard had never had pain that improved her before, all her pain was just pain, endless cruelties of endlessly cruel men; but she had to admit, the idea was attractive, that the terrible burden of her pining might not have to just sit in her like an ache. And just to hear Dorothea try to console her, it... it helped, it helped something solitary and hurt inside her.

“ I... thank you, Dorothea. I will think on it. But, I must ask: what happened to Julian, eventually? I must admit to curiosity as to how they ended up married despite all the opposition.”

Dorothea responded to the rather obvious subject change with her usual calm grace. “ Oh, it all ended up working out quite well for everyone! Except, of course, the two fathers. A messenger eventually came to Julian explaining that his father was dead, and so he was able to go home and marry Ramea- whose own father had mysteriously died too. What a coincidence! Just like a story...”

Dorothea's sly grin gave voice to what she did not say, and Edelgard nodded her head. That was her conclusion, too, that this happy young couple had been forced to become patricides to get the world to give them what they wanted.

( _Just like me_ , Edelgard thought, and a thread of sympathy tied her to these people she did not know, tugged at her dead-ash heart. _Freaks just like me, who perform patricide just to have a happier world..._ )

“ Good for them,” she said, and meant it. She, too, sought to pay with the blood of others the price of a better world. “ A happy ending.”

Dorothea smiled wider at that, turned genuine, and for a moment, Edelgard saw what Petra saw in her, this beauty whose smile was like the stars at night.

“ Oh, yes indeed,” Dorothea said. “ Particularly considering how foolish his father was. I met him only once, but oh... the experience sticks. Have you ever met someone so stupid you are convinced they must be putting on a show, only to realize to your horror that they are exactly as dumb as they act?”

“ Yes,” Edelgard said without hesitation, as a dozen or more Imperial nobles popped into mind. “ The list is tremendous, and mostly noble.”

“ Then you understand my distaste for the social class,” Dorothea said. “ That's what I like about you, Edie. You're royalty, but you honestly have more sense than Adrestian nobles do. You're almost like an Alliance noble...”

“ Alliance?” Edelgard said, quirking an eyebrow. Dorothea nodded.

“ Oh yes! I did research before coming here. I... well, before... before Petra, I was convinced I'd have to marry a Leceister noble. I'd take what I could get, but grabbing an Alliance noble seemed more doable. Nobles are not so high in the Alliance, and commoners not so low; people like me, who sit astride the gap, are not thought of so poorly on either side there, because the distance is smaller. In a land with no king, where great merchant families have the same clout as mighty noble houses, everyone is a little closer to equal- and more importantly, most people have to _earn_ their place, since the constant competition weeds out the truly foolish and incompetent. Note that the Deer are half made up of commoners, something no other House can claim; being a noble isn't everything in Leceister.”

“ Hmm,” Edelgard said. She hadn't really considered that, had spent most of her upbringing dealing with the Adrestian nobility, and if she was being honest, she'd assumed the same system existed in Faerghus and Leceister. “ What of the Kingdom?”

“ Worse than here, in some ways, and better in others,” Dorothea answered honestly. “ Valor and courage are prized so highly that minor lordships can be earned by almost anyone if you can just kill enough people, but the country is so strict on its traditions that any other way of rising up is even more impossible than it is in Adrestia. I would never have gotten anywhere in Faerghus; they do not hold the arts in high regard, save for literature. To their credit, they are obsessed with stories and books; Faerghus chivalric novels are a treat, if a bit hyperbolic from my point of view.”

Edelgard pondered that. Cultural differences she had not considered before... but that was one reason she wanted to swing all Adrestia like a sledgehammer into the rest of Fodlan. It would be easier, if more bloody, to just... burn it to the ground, start over. Not wrestle with all these little... quirks.

( _And it will make them pay_ , her rage whispers, and she pretends not to hear it. _Blood for my blood, pain for my pain, vengeance for my dead... all Fodlan a graveyard, all the dead of Fodlan in tribute to eleven little bodies that weren't even given gravestones. I don't even know where their bones are... All the dead of Fodlan, for the fact that I am alive and I am_ _ **hurt**_ _._ )

“ What of you and Petra?” Edelgard asked, after a moment. “ How... I apologize, this is probably rude to ask. How will they regard you?”

Dorothea smirked. “ I researched Brigid, too, though admittedly I... hadn't thought it would go _anywhere_. But I think it'll work out. Petra assures me it can, and my research bears that out. Brigid is more like Leceister, the divisions aren't as stark... and while I may be an Adrestian, which will cause some friction, we _do_ have the advantage of both being women. Brigid has some interesting cultural ideas about those whose preferences are for their own gender.”

“ Oh?” Edelgard said. “ I wasn't aware.”

“ One of their greatest kings was a man who had a very large harem of other men,” Dorothea said, laughing a bit. “ He was... a bit of a character, honestly. Imagine the classic folk hero, the big, ballsy, greatsword-swinging strongman, his dialogue half swears and half poetic insults, with one hand on a great cup of mead and the other on some gorgeous lass' bottom- he was that guy exactly, but exclusively into men. He fought Dagda twice, came out the winner both times, and then he fought Adrestia and won; then, being a bit bored with no wars to fight, he set about cleaning up Brigid. He wiped out all the bandits, reorganized their entire tax system, built new forts, created their biggest roads, fought two civil wars over the reforms he promoted, and then established their court system, all before dying in his bed of old age of a heart attack, because he was screwing two guys at once and it finally proved too much for him.”

Edelgard laughed, but after a moment, shook her head.

“ My fellow royals are sometimes rather... unique,” Edelgard said. “ Still, that's rather interesting; I hadn't known about him.”

She'd studied Brigid, of course, but her research into Brigid was all cold practicalities: who owned what, the natural resources, what might be used in rebellion and what could be bent to her goal. She had a file on Petra, but she hadn't even been aware Petra was into women.

( In Edelgard's defense, neither had Petra, not until she met Dorothea, and all the day-kissed girl's wants and desires were tied up in waves of brown hair and the gentle moonlight of Dorothea's eyes.)

Dorothea smiled as she continued. “ There is an idea in Brigid, born of that man's brilliance, that people like him and me are... special, that being different from most of humanity in our sexual preferences is part of how the spirits mark out some people as having greater potential. I don't know about that- I feel rather average, to be honest- but it will actually improve Petra's standing for her to bring home a woman, even if she _is_ just an Adrestian commoner.”

“ Not just any Adrestian commoner,” Edelgard said. “ She'll be bringing home Dorothea Arnault, opera star... and graduate of Garreg Mach. You're more than you think you are, Dorothea.”

Dorothea's eyes opened in surprise at that. “ I... you really think so?”

“ I do,” Edelgard said. Dorothea gave her another genuine smile, and some part on the inside of Edelgard ate that smile up, some famished part that longed for the days when her sisters would smile at her like that.

“ Thank you,” the opera singer said. “ If... if it's not impertinent, Edie, I'd like to say, I think you were wrong about what you said, the night you told me about Petra. I think you do care, Edie. I think you care so much it burns you. Someone who didn't care wouldn't... wouldn't have helped.”

Edelgard shrugged. “ I... I'm not sure I do care, Dorothea... but I think I'd like to.”

“ Good!” Dorothea said, then laughed. “ But we have rather forgotten the game entirely, and I am afraid that I must leave soon; me and Petra planned to head to town today. Let's finish this up; and if you're available, you can come with us, it's just a shopping trip. Petra wants to try out a new recipe. If you're amenable, I can see if she'll cook for you, too. Honestly it would be nice for her to have someone else to judge her cooking; I can eat anything, but I have absolutely no class when it comes to food, as anyone whose had my cooking can tell you. It all tastes the same in your stomach, be it fine dining or raw rat, and I've had both, I should know!”

Edelgard shook her head at Dorothea's chuckles; for all her suffering, she had never been starved by the Agarthans, she did not know the taste of rat. The food had been tasteless, but they had fed her, and it is with something almost like wonder that she realizes that Dorothea has suffered things she has not. So few people were in that category, but here sat one of them, and... and she liked talking to her. It was... nice.

“ I think I will,” Edelgard said. Today was a free day for her, after all. “ If you don't mind me inviting Hubert.”

“ I assumed Hubie would be coming along,” Dorothea said, and Edelgard barked a short laugh that she didn't quite intend.

“ _Hubie?!?_ ”

Dorothea's expression redefined the words 'shit-eating grin', and they continued to play, Edelgard eventually winning a hard-fought victory. Dorothea bowed as she rose up, and they went to town, where even Hubert- Hubie, now and forever in Edelgard's mind- had fun, the sinister and stoic man amused not just by the nickname but by Dorothea's boldness in giving it to him. The meal was good, too; poison-free, as Hubert confirmed before she ate, a strangely ginger-based soup that shouldn't have gone as well with the potato cake as it did.

Petra had apologized, claimed it wasn't a _real_ recipe, because she couldn't get the proper spices, but she said it tasted _like_ the real deal. She'd also seen Hubert's only semi-inconspicuous testing, and approved; the two had then talked of various assassination attempts, and to his own surprise Hubert had rather enjoyed the conversation.

Edelgard thought about that, later. Petra was a conundrum to Edelgard; this sweet, kind princess who nevertheless could casually discuss poisons with dark Hubert, the bright-hearted lady who hunted animals and people both with tremendous vigor. Like the sun, Petra was, all at once, life-giving and dangerous; appropriate, perhaps, for the future Queen of an island nation. Light had always been a thing of many colors, and few knew that as well as Edelgard, who had so long been denied it in her youth.

It had... it had been a good evening. Edelgard had enjoyed it. To be surrounded by others who liked her was nice; she didn't know Petra that well, and the relationship between Adrestia and Brigid would always sit between them, but she trusted Dorothea, and it was a lovely evening.

It had been the first time in too long that she had been with others.

That solidified her decision. She'd invite the others to play, too.

If Garreg Mach was to be the last gasp of Edelgard the Person, before the Emperor was all she was, she might as well enjoy it.

-

But before that happens, it comes time to have her next game with Claude, and _that_ is now an opportunity to mix business with pleasure. Reconnaissance is not usually performed in broad daylight in Garreg Mach's open air over a table, but Edelgard's not going to complain. Not when the scenery is this nice; the sun shining, the grass green, Claude his handsome and adorable self.

“ So... now that you've seen real combat, how does this compare?” she asked, moving a pawn forward. She'll go with a slow strategy this time, draw this out. Let him do the talking.

“ This is a lot less stressful,” Claude admitted glibly, moving one swift pawn forward... but his eyes, for a second, did not see the pawn he was moving, but the Tomb.

( A flash of sparks as a weapon impacts hard on Ferdinand's shield, as he swings his heavy axe forward, this son of Adrestia fighting like some knight of Faerghus in the service of a Duke of Leceister. Ferdinand is a million things, he is a complicated thing, but the Tomb makes a Deer of him at last, he proved there was gold in him down there in the dark.)

Claude pursed his lips, seeing something Edelgard could not, appeared.. thoughtful. She didn't interrupt, wondering what he'd say next, pretended to be musing on her next move. Finally, Claude said, almost grudgingly, “ It was... nightmarish, if I'm being honest. I knew there'd be resistance, but... this wasn't some random band of thieves or burglars, or even some deranged cult like I've heard some people speculate. This... this was an organized force. They were military.”

Edelgard paused lightly as she touched a pawn, detailing that. Okay. Claude knew... quite a bit, more from a single battle than she'd have expected. But, then again, she'd always known he was smart... it was kind of attractive, that intelligence. She wondered what he read in his spare time, before smothering it with her next act and question.

She made a slow, careful move with that pawn, not really paying attention to the board now, focusing instead on the conversation. “ What makes you think that?”

“ Organization,” he answered without hesitation, moving slowly too, but eventually deciding to go forward with a galloping knight, chomping at the bit.

( The gleam off of Ignatz' glasses in the Tomb's flickering torchlight as he took careful aim, as killing shot after killing shot were loosed from the peaceful man's bow. Beware the wrath of a good man; beware Ignatz, who fired slower than Claude, but had never once needed to fire twice at a single target.)

“ They were... motivated, but not in the way fanatics are motivated,” Claude said, not really seeing the board. “ This was discipline. They had orders, and they were working hard to fulfill them. Morale was high despite our unexpected interruption... truth was, if we had retreated, I don't think they'd have followed. They were there on a job, they had a _specific_ goal. Fanatics are messier.”

All true. Claude's piercing eyes had taken in everything, had not been fooled for a second by the masks. Edelgard made another move, distracted and attracted both, and could not have told you what that move was a second later. “ What do you think that goal was?”

Claude moved a bishop up, taking one of Edelgard's carelessly moved pieces.

( He sees blue and silver melt and be recast into gold and brown, the Lion they had adopted, Mercedes, sweet-hearted baker, tender-hearted healer, through whom light flowed in the darkness of the Tomb, light to sear their enemies and seal their wounds. He had felt her tender touch himself, as an enemy spell turned his hand into icy chunks of ruined flesh; before the horror of his wound had even begun to set in, she had been there, and the light had formed new flesh and joints where none had been, restoring him.)

“ I think... something that wasn't there,” he admitted. He was looking at the board, so he did not notice Edelgard's eyes widen, just the slightest. “ They seemed surprised to find the Sword there... or at least, the Sword wasn't _all_ they'd expected to find... but who puts a Sword in a coffin?”

Edelgard didn't know that herself. She'd been looking for a Crest stone... one of the inhuman races' petrified hearts. Not... whatever the Sword was.

And Claude had pieced together that they weren't after the Sword... he was... _very_ good at this. She moved another piece, paying no real attention.

“ It _was_ a holy relic,” Edelgard said. “ Still, it doesn't make much sense, does it?”

“ No,” Claude said. “ The way it looks, it's so... grotesque. Is that truly a holy weapon? It looks like somebody's spine.”

He moved up another pawn, defending a weakness he'd just identified, that Edelgard had missed.

( Red, red hair and red blood and red soul; Leonie, who war did not hurt inside, but healed, Leonie, who loved violence with the pure heart of a war god. Leonie, whose nose was busted by a shield blow, who had smiled the ferocious smile of the bloodthirsty through the pain, white teeth against wet crimson, smiling as she caught the man's sword with her spear and, with a heavy kick of her boot, broke its blade, honoring her teacher's name.)

Edelgard thought of Aymr, of the way it... _hungered_ , clutched and groaned and _snapped_. “ They are... grotesque,” she admitted, a harmless truth offered in hopes of hearing more. She was learning a lot about how Claude thought, though to her concern and excitement both he was... _smart._

She moved again, hand delicately putting her Queen in a position to attack. “ What else did you notice in the Tomb?”

To her surprise, a moment later, she lost that same Queen. A bishop had slipped unknown through her ranks, and taken her best piece from her.

( Claude knows what that reminded him of; Lysithea, and the Death Knight. The duel that had stopped all the battle, just for a moment, as friend and foe alike paused to watch a slip of a girl, with no protection save simple cloth, go to stand before the black-armored knight and his gigantic steed, his scythe heavy with lightning... and mock him. Lysithea had walked up to the Death Knight and she had _dared_ him to battle her. Fearless Lysithea, mighty Lysithea, whose voice had echoed with the language of black holes, and whose glorious and unbreakable night proved stronger than the Death Knight's delusions of fulgurous power.)

“ There was another guy there, too,” Claude said. “ Lysithea drove him off... but... he was different. Different even from the masked soldiers, especially his armor- it looked like his armor was designed by a demon with bad taste who owed a spike merchant money. But that wasn't the only way he was different.”

“ How else was he different?” Edelgard asked, knowing full well who he meant. Jertiza, who had stumbled back to their hidden base bloody and amused. Jeritza had been... weirdly delighted to fight Lysithea, even as he spat blood in their infirmary. She had _excited_ him, an opponent worth killing; he hoped she would mature into an even finer foe. Edelgard had desperately tried to convince him to just _put her down_ , though even her spirit had quailed a bit at the command, and Jeritza had simply shaken his head. He would not obey her in this.

She hoped Jeritza could kill Lysithea, and feared that he would. Lysithea, after all, was almost kin of hers, given her torments... killing her felt wrong. Felt abominable. But... to make a better world. For a better world, there had to be sacrifices made. If she just did enough evil, she could make a good world, that was the promise Edie had made to herself. She would do good in the future, to make up for all the evil she did now.

(It's a lie she tells herself so often that she believes it; it has become a prayer to her, a promise, that this will not all be in vain... but she prays to no one, and has only promised it to herself, a shifting foundation of sand on which to build a church. She is too young to know this truth: no road to Paradise is ever opened by abomination. To make Omelas is to create Hell, not Heaven.)

“ He seemed more like he belonged to a third force, like he was on loan to the others,” Claude said, and Edelgard almost congratulated him; how in the _world_ had he made that deduction? It was true, but how had he figured it out?

“ How do you suppose?” Edelgard asked as she made a move, killing a pawn, distracted still by the loss of her Queen but much, _much_ more distracted by Claude's words and her own thoughts. “ They were all in masks, right?”

“ Yes, but even ignoring how different his outfit was, he didn't act like the rest,” Claude said. “ He wasn't nearly so disciplined, seemed to want to do his own thing. He wouldn't follow orders, and even told us he wouldn't attack unless we attacked first... he honestly seemed annoyed to be there. It wasn't until Lysithea decided to tackle him that he even tried to fight.”

“ Why'd she decide to do that, if he was staying out of the fight?” Edelgard asked, legitimately curious.

“ She yelled, and I quote, 'I'm not trusting that Black Knight-looking motherfucker, he's going to stab us in the back!' and she tore off despite my orders to go fight him,” Claude said.

Edelgard stifled a noise somewhere between amusement and admiration; Jeritza had confirmed to her that he _had_ planned to leave them alone, but Lysithea had walked out and mocked him, and honestly, at that point he'd have felt it was insulting to the girl's bravery to _not_ kill her.

Claude noted her suppressed reaction, and laughed himself. “ Yeah, I know. Goddess, Lysithea's something else.”

His face turned somber. “ I... I thought she'd get killed, I thought I was going to watch her die. I ran to help, so did Teach, but... well, it turns out she didn't need saving at all. I'd seen her fight before, but what she pulled down there in the dark... I've never seen anything like it. She made fun of him, do you know that? She walked out and called him out, said- and I quote again- 'you dress like you molest corpses! Fight me you fuck!' “

Edelgard lost her battle against her amusement, and laughed, not just at the words but at Claude's terrible falsetto, and Claude joined her, both laughing at the idea of the foul-mouthed, furious little girl who had stood tall as a giant in the Tomb.

When they were done laughing, Edelgard sighed. Past the ridiculousness of the situation, she found herself... proud, proud of Lysithea, glad to hear how well one so much like her had done, even if she had proved her worth against Edelgard's own forces.

“ Brave of her,” Edelgard said. “ Beyond brave. Lysithea is truly wondrous.”

“ She is,” Claude said, smiling, as he moved one of his Rooks, the piece freed up by Edelgard's own attack. It slammed through the ranks, scattering her plans to dust.

( The golden flash of Raphael's blond hair over that rook's crenelated top, Claude behind the big man taking shelter as the titan lifted a masked soldier up, hurling him bodily at archers who'd pinned down their mages. For a moment not the kind, food-obsessed sweetheart, for a moment not gentle Raphael, but for a moment some great Beast come down from Leceister, an invincible giant of old.)

“ How did Rhea react when you came out?” Edelgard asked, moving another piece forward. Even Hubert had not been able to sneak into _that_ meeting, and Claude would have to be her only source of information.

“ Rhea was exactly the way you'd think,” Claude said. “ I think Lysithea put it best... she's... downright terrifying. She's not even that angry about it. Just... her will be done. Nothing else.”

Edelgard nodded, and Claude continued.

“ She spoke with Byleth in private later. Teach apparently got most of the credit, heh, even though guarding the Tomb was my idea...”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “ Shame, I was rather proud of being right, that they'd attack the Tomb. But that's how favoritism goes, I suppose. Byleth reported that Seteth was very much against giving her the Sword but Rhea was deadset on it. Why's she so obsessed with Teach? Makes me nervous, to be so close to the focus of the Archbishop's attentions.”

He didn't trust Rhea. He wasn't blindly a follower of that goddamn reptilian monster. He... he might be willing to oppose her, in time, if he were to find out the truth. He might even join her.

The idea catches fire in her mind. A silly thought... but the idea of Claude at her side... it is addictive, that thought. Foolish, too. She doesn't have _time_ to indulge this schoolgirl crush, this is a distraction she cannot afford, but...

But Claude saved her life. Can she not take a moment to try and save his?

“ If you are ever in danger,” Edelgard said, carefully, making another move she wasn't paying attention to at the same time, making the move not because she cared about the game anymore but because, if she didn't do _something_ with her hands, they would start to shake, “ come to me. I'll help you. No matter... who it is.”

Claude's eyebrows shot upwards, and she swallowed heavily at the surprised regard in those eyes. Claude was smart, as this conversation had proven; he knew precisely how much Edelgard was offering to him, what her words _meant_. What she was risking, to even say that, here in the heart of Rhea's power.

Claude looked down at the board, eyes focused on his Queen as he pondered the words of a Princess.

( Byleth, Teach, the most powerful of all the Deer, their teacher and leader... who was also, strangely, their most vulnerable. Against the weight of Rhea's regard, all the swordplay in the world would fall flat; Rhea was the most powerful person in Fodlan, and Teach has drawn her personal attention. Claude would rescue her from that, keep her safe from harm; it is fair payment, she has saved and protected him, after all, he owes her his life. But the Archbishop was so powerful, and Teach was so... unaware, so innocent, in her own odd, blood-soaked way... the help of the princess would make it so much easier, to protect Teach.)

Moving the Queen up, Claude nodded his head and looked up at Edelgard again. “ Edelgard... thank you. I'll keep that in mind. And should you ever need aid... come to me, alright? No matter who you're facing. Be a shame to try and save you in the forest only to lose you later, no matter the cause.”

He smiled at her, but Edelgard noted with delight that it was a _real_ smile, it reached his eyes, it made those grass-green orbs sparkle with amusement and good will both.

She smiled back at him, and her smile reached her eyes, too.

( She undoes him with that smile. All his schemes go out of his mind when he sees it. A real smile- he had noticed her fake smiles, the way she had noticed his, one schemer to another- but this was a real smile, it reached her eyes, it made them blaze like purple suns. Her real smile made her look... different, better, it gave him a glimpse of the sweet person inside the shell she wore, and for just a moment, the only scheme he can dream of is seeing that sweet person again, and making her smile, making her smile for the rest of her life.)

After a moment, the two realized they were just smiling at each other like idiots, and Edelgard had never been more glad for the board. It gave her an easy out, something to focus on that wasn't the trembling in her guts or the way her heart thudded against her lungs, her body a birdcage too small for the spread wings of her feelings.

( Claude is grateful for it, too, he turns to it in that moment because he feels like a deer staring dumbstruck at a night-time bonfire, his head full of empty, his body a cage too small for the great spread of antlers growing in it. Antlers are nature's crown, he'd read once; how appropriate for him, these antlers, for he desired royalty, and didn't male deer grow antlers during mating season? But... distract yourself, Claude.)

Looking it over, she found to her surprise that he was _winning_. In fact, if she didn't miss her guess, he was close to putting her in checkmate... Hmm. She moved a pawn, hoping he'd miss the obvious assault... but he didn't, swinging in with another Bishop, clearing the way.

( The Bishop had been Mercedes, but the Lions' visage warps into Marianne's in his mind; Marianne, shy and self-effacing, Marianne, whose heart grew into fury, whose strange Crest roared to life and turned her feeble spear into a mighty pike, running a man through. Marianne, who kept them alive with spells half-sobbed by the desperate, depressed woman, who spat freezing cold at her enemies, the entire Golden Deer summed up in one woman's contradictions- the girl who wanted to die, fighting so that others might live.)

They concentrated on the game for a few minutes, letting the moment of vulnerability dissipate in moves and countermoves. Claude moved a pawn up to bolster his defenses, his mind continuing to conjure the faces of his Deer over the pieces.

( Lorenz, silly, foppish Lorenz, who proved all his posing about noble strength had been no lie. Lorenz, one of the three who made up Claude's glorious frontline, his mighty pawns. Lorenz, who would hate to be called a pawn, but who might consent to be called mighty, who had burned and stabbed his way through the Tomb with such skill that, to Claude's bafflement and Lorenz' pride, the purple-haired nobleman was the only Deer who emerged from the Tomb completely unscathed.)

She launched an assault on his king, a desperate all-in, but his second Knight stopped the attack on the King cold.

( Hilda, ever-faithful, always at his side, a constant presence, a constant shield. So long as she lived, he was safe from harm, this last daughter of Goneril far from the least of his House, indeed she was highest in his eyes, his good right hand, more valuable to him than a thousand pounds of gold. Gold could not scheme with you, gold could not laugh with you, gold could not bleed for you, but a friend and a retainer could, and Hilda had done all that and more.)

In time, it became obvious who the winner would be. Edelgard was the superior player, but Claude had gained such a lead while she was distracted that she could not stop him. Eventually, he forced her into check with a Bishop.

“ Well, it looks like you've won this time,” Edelgard said, moving her Adrestian-crowned king in the one direction it had left, a direction almost immediately eclipsed when Claude brought his Queen down. She smiled at him again, composed once more... but that composure didn't diminish the genuine warmth in her voice.

“ Congratulations! This is your first victory, and a hard-fought one.”

“ Thank you, thank you!” Claude said, puffing up a little- maybe more than a little. He'd been vulnerable there for a moment, they had been vulnerable with _each other_ for just a moment, and they are both survivors, she of abuse and he of racism; any momentary lapse in defense burns them like acid, and so he responds as he always has- he put on a show. “ Black's citizens can finally sleep in peace, now that their aggressor has fallen. The news sweeps the land- the troops are coming home. They have little dances in the street, which is difficult because none of them have legs-”

“ My set has legs,” Edelgard protested quietly, lips in a wry smirk- but grateful for the show, it let her retreat into the cold and the calm. She had been so... open, right then. It terrified her and thrilled her in equal measure. “ Don't confuse your common pieces with my delicately crafted masterpiece here. These are all quite lifelike.”

“ They still have wooden stands,” Claude countered, “ so they just go clackety-clack up and down when they try to walk, it's really noisy in their home city...”

“ You are a ridiculous person,” Edelgard said fondly, and Claude gave her his best devil-may-care grin.

“ Here's hoping this is the start of my winning streak!” he said.

-

If it was the start of a winning streak for Claude, those wins weren't on the board. Edelgard resumed her habit of crushing him every time, even as she probed him for more information, even as they began to talk of... little things, smaller things, that mysterious entity Edelgard had never known before called small talk. She sees him more often after that curiously open day, he seems to pay attention to her now, as she does to him, and they talk in passing as often as they do at the board. They are... friends, which is an odd feeling to feel for a man you once paid someone else to kill.

( Her worst-spent gold. Killing Dimitri is probably still necessary but... but Claude... she doesn't have to kill him. She doesn't have to hurt him. Not if she can turn him against Rhea, and how hard can it be, to convince a man so wise to kill a monster?)

Things are changing. Dorothea hangs out with her now, accompanies her, as does Petra and, most surprising of all, Bernadetta. Bernadetta- who asks Edelgard to call her Bernie, a request Edelgard honors almost religiously- who clings to Edelgard as a beacon of safety.

She is a presence as constant as Hubert around her now, the little shy girl seems to feel safer with Edelgard around, irony of ironies. She even deigns to come with them when Petra invites them to dinner again, though Bernie nearly passes out twice- but she stays there, earning a bit of Hubert's respect. You cannot help but respect someone willing to face their own greatest fears.

He even buys her a lovely silver bow, tells her that it will make her more useful in Edelgard's service, and she is delighted at the idea, wants to help Edelgard the way Edelgard has helped her, and Hubert's respect for her grows.

Still, as Bernie will tell Edelgard quietly, while they play one of her numerous collection of cooperative games, it's easier, around Edie. Around Edie, she feels... safe. As if Edelgard could protect her from all harm.

That touches Edelgard, even as it amuses her, too. Poor Bernie feels safe at Garreg Mach only near the Flame Emperor.

Hubert in particular thinks that's funny, and imagining Bernie's reaction to finding out kept Hubert in high spirits for a week.

But it's not all been joy, for him and her. Hubert has argued that she must cut off contact with Claude, that what she has done is too dangerous; Claude will betray them, he argues, an outsider who cannot understand Edelgard's dream. Becoming friends with the other Black Eagles is fine, as they will be part of the war and on their side.

(And, in private, where Hubert cannot admit the truth to himself, he sees how happy it makes Edelgard to be with others, and even his cold, practical heart cannot deny his Lady these simple joys.)

But Claude? No. Too dangerous. Him and his Deer have already ruined one plan. Why let them do more harm? Better to back away.

She orders him to drop it. Claude might be a valuable asset, she argues; he does not trust Rhea, and if that distrust can be worked with, they might have another ally here.

She orders Hubert to drop it, and he does so, acquiescing with a sigh, and Edelgard thinks no more of it.

-

Two weeks later- two weeks in, as Claude and the Deer prepared to go face Miklan, Sylvain's estranged brother- in the dead of night, Hubert was in the forest.

In the dark of the woods surrounding Garreg Mach, Hubert prepared to kill Claude.

He didn't _want_ to have to do this. It will not be the first time he will ever do something directly against Edelgard's orders... still, he regrets it.

But... it is necessary. For Lady Edelgard, for the vastness of her dreams, for the new world she will make. No matter how much this hurts her in the short run.

The task of House Vestra was always this- serve the Emperor. Even when that Emperor did not serve themselves.

It was his only goal, and he pondered his life as he strapped on his boots and mask, withdrawn from a protected place in the forest around Garreg Mach. Everyone mistook Hubert's motivations, the one private frustration in his life. Most assumed it was unrequited longing, but that wasn't the truth.

He did find Edelgard attractive- he was a bisexual man with a functioning penis, after all- but that wasn't the source of his loyalty.

It boiled, in reality, down to this: House Vestra had, due to his father, failed his Emperor, and the Imperial nobility had then subjected Edelgard- Edelgard, who should have been his father's highest priority- to the death of all her siblings, and the ruination of her body.

Hubert will never admit this to anyone, not even himself, but the emotion that truly drives him is named _guilt_. Guilt, that his father's failure means that Edelgard's family died. Guilt, that Edelgard will almost certainly be the last of her line... even if the sheer danger of what she is doing does not get her killed, then... well. Hubert knows much of many things, and he knows enough of what they have done to Lady Edelgard to fear that she has been rendered infertile, a fear he knows haunts her, too.

Edelgard has few private dreams, there is little room in her for anything but her grand design... but once, just once, she admitted to him that she hoped to have a large family, if after everything there was time to have them.

Somehow that is the part of her dream that hit Hubert like a sledgehammer. Such a small wish, and even that hope is almost certainly a fantasy.

He curses her enemies, as he puts on his outfit, hiding himself behind the mask of a soldier of the Flame Emperor, and with cloak and light armor makes himself a thing of shadow. Damn the Agarthans. Damn his father, who failed his House's ancient duty, and in doing so, made centuries of honor meaningless. Damn Adrestia and its nobility, who not only let this happen, but _ordered_ it.

And... damn himself, for what he was about to do. He wished there was another way. That might surprise his detractors, but it was the truth; he genuinely did not want to do what he was about to do. Lady Edelgard's attraction to Claude, in another life, might have been a sweet thing.

In another life, Hubert would have approved, heartily- the man had proven his worth in saving Lady Edelgard's life, and then later in conquering the Tomb. He was a worthy match, Hubert had to admit, which made this... worse. If he were some incompetent this would feel like simply sweeping away the trash, but Claude is a rare and precious thing; it is like burning art, to kill him.

But they have committed themselves to atrocity. It will refocus his Lady, for Claude to die. He had thought to arrange for an accident, but it is better this way. She will blame the Agarthans, and recommit herself to her goals, and Claude will be a martyr for the revolution. It will also weaken the Deer, who are proving able opponents to Lady Edelgard; it will shatter them, and they must needs be broken, else none of Edelgard's bright promise will come to pass.

It is not the fate Claude or the Deer deserve; but if people got what they deserved, his father would be dead, Edelgard's siblings would be alive, and there would be no Agarthans slithering in the dark of Fodlan.

( In his heart of hearts, Hubert is an idealist; and perhaps that explains much, at day's end.)

Hubert, ready, makes his way back to the monastery. It is late; people will be in their rooms. Claude will be awake; Hubert has studied his schedule, and found that Claude stays up later than most people do. He will be at his desk, writing and scheming. Hubert has debated swiping those papers; he'll have to see what's actually on them first, but while he's killing the man, he might as well rob him. Claude's smart; there'll probably be something worthwhile in his correspondence.

He will have few visitors. The only visitor Hubert is worried about is Byleth, who maintains a strange sleep schedule and stranger personal habits; the Professor, who loves fighting and fishing and seemingly nothing else, will sometimes drop in on her students at random. Hubert is certain he can take the Professor, so long as she doesn't have her Relic with her- and she usually doesn't when she's just walking around the school grounds. A mighty mercenary, yes, but in his youth it had taken three trained fighting men to drag Hubert down; and he is full-grown now.

Still, he'd much prefer to just kill Claude. Killing Byleth too will make things more complicated.

He reaches the dormitory easily enough, and scales the wall with the ease of long practice, and simple spells woven into his gloves and boots that give him just the smallest advantage of grip. Claude's room is easy enough to find, and his window is open; Claude likes feeling the wind. That habit will make Hubert's job easier, tonight.

He hears voices from it- Claude and Byleth, discussing some matter of ethics. He waits, clinging to the wall, waiting to hear goodbyes and a door shutting.

The window is open. Hubert climbs up to it, listens for the faint sound of Claude writing on his desk, the thin scratch-scratch of ink on paper. He risks a glance, and finds that Claude has his back to his window. Hubert slips in, soft as a shadow, silent as death. Claude's room is a mess, and Hubert spares it a frown. Claude is not perfect, and his room looks as though a tornado and an earthquake had a drunken fling in his bed, then woke up and had a fistfight about whose fault it was.

He hopes that the maid who must clean this, when he is done, will forgive him the numerous chunks of Claude's body he will spread over the room. He readies his hands to cast the spell that will murder this Alliance lord, standing behind Claude, who is none the wiser.

-

In one timeline, Hubert succeeds. Claude is a powerful warrior, but catch the greatest fighter off-guard, and you can kill them with great ease... as Jeralt will prove in most timelines, stabbed by Kronya and left to die.

Still, Hubert's plan backfires. Edelgard's rage grows out of control; she attacks the Agarthans, springs her betrayal too early, so enraged that they are taking from her _again_ that she cannot control herself. She never suspects Hubert, who ends up having to leave, going to Enbarr to deal with an uprising there, who in private is horrified that he has doomed his Lady with his actions. The Flame Emperor's army descends into infighting, as various Agarthans manipulate chunks of it into turning on the rest.

Meanwhile, Claude's death does not shatter the Golden Deer, but galvanizes them; Hilda, who will never forgive herself for as long as she lives, adopts all his dreams and goals as her own, and she proves far deadlier than Claude. Claude was cautious, careful, and was driven by curiosity; but this Hilda is driven by guilt, and whips herself into a screaming fervor, becomes a sleepless juggernaut devoted to one cause above all. An irony; Hubert had created his equal and opposite.

The Deer support her absolutely, Byleth torn apart by the death of her little one; the war against the Flame Emperor turns deadly personal to them, and they bend all their resources to the task.

In that timeline, Hilda figures out who the Flame Emperor is a month later, in a flash of inspiration born of her relentless obsession. She sees the way Edelgard acts, the guilt that hangs from her like ashes, notes how Hubert has suddenly been ordered back home, and puts it all together. This mistake alone she makes: she thinks the guilt in Edelgard's posture is her attempt to hide her glee, she mistakes genuine sorrow for falsehood, and reads malice into Edelgard's regretful intent.

She decides to tell Edelgard she knows she is the Flame Emperor, and this is how she does it: she knocks on her door in the middle of th day.

When Edelgard opens the door, suspecting nothing, Hilda swings the axe hidden behind her back directly into the Adrestian's skull.

Edelgard dies stunned and surprised, and in a fit of terrible irony, for a crime she is genuinely innocent of, though the dead at her feet and the blood on her hands is yet enough to justify her death. Hilda is initially arrested for what seems like an open murder, but she is exonerated when Hubert, in grief, tries to invade the entire monastery with the Flame Emperor's army, seeking only to take her head. Dedue, of all people, ends up leading Hilda's defense in the chaos, and in later years they will call it the Battle of the Retainers, a fight by and for the second-in-commands of Garreg Mach's three Houses.

It is a war that Dedue decisively wins, Hubert's guilt and sorrow wracked mind leading him to make one mistake too many, and the Lion roars triumphant over the Eagle, Hubert dying the same way Edelgard did, to an axe blow, though Dedue wields it rather than Hilda. Hubert's actions reveal the entire plot; Rhea sets Hilda, who had been proven correct by Hubert's actions, free, and she is even awarded titles and glories for her actions.

But all this does not stop the war.

Adrestia is taken by Thales, wearing Arundel's skin, as he murders Edelgard's father and pins the blame on the Church. His speeches stoke the people's anger and fury at the Church for murdering their Emperor and their princess. He claims all evidence against them was manufactured, and so Edelgard serves them, even in death.

Adrestia votes to go to war this time, is not dragged by Imperial command but eager to go, chomping at the bit. The Empire attacks the Church with open Agarthan support, what would have been an army of conscripts now a legion of enraged volunteers, and the war is harder for it. While the Alliance and the Kingdom both eventually drive them back, costs are high; Seteth dies saving Flayn, Raphael, Marianne, and Ignatz burn in the Light of Javelins, and all the Lions save Dedue, Dimitri, and Ingrid are eventually killed, the three coming together as a single loving family after the war to deal with their traumas.  
  


The Eagles all die, save Petra and Dorothea, who flee to Brigid to start a revolution against Adrestian rule that frees the peninsula and carves it some handsome new territory to boot, though neither are entirely comfortable with the arrangement, missing Edelgard and their friends, and mourning their deaths.

Hilda survives, to her grief, and when an Almyran delegate comes to find Claude, she takes her Lord's coffin to his homeland of Almyra, to lay at his parents' feet and accept their punishment for failing to save him. They will find they cannot hurt this woman, whose self-hatred is so strong it is like a cloud on her; and while she claims failure, they know that she struck down her son's killer, and so they forgive her, and keep her in their palace for a year and a day.

One of Claude's cousins, a man five years her younger, will see the sorrowful warrior and seek to make her smile, believing that no one should suffer so, and in time he will light the fire of her heart again, a fire dead when Marianne died. In time she will marry him, joining Goneril to Almyra. The Throat will become Almyra's strongest western defense, instead of Fodlan's easternmost barricade. Hilda and her descendants, of Fodlan descent, will prove in time to be Almyra's most loyal defenders.

But that timeline never happens. Byleth had been nearby, and so what happens is this; just as Hubert begins to cast, Byleth throws the door open, and tackles him.

-

Byleth loved her students. She had never had... friends before, but these students, they are her friends. She is their teacher, too, but she doesn't maintain much distance from them; she's barely older than they are, and so much more socially awkward, for all that she has more practical grounding in the real world than they do. She... she loves them. Not romantically, but love does not need to be the love of roses and serenades to be love; some love is the love of shared meals and shared time, some love is the love of shared interests and shared experience. Some love is not roses and serenades, but the love of dandelions and whistles, simpler and no less strong or beautiful for it.

That love is what Byleth had for her precious Deer, her little Herd. Byleth had discovered her heart amongst these students, even as it still refused to beat in her chest; silent as it was, it had learned, finally, to _feel_. Byleth, blessed by the Goddess, cursed as the Demon, who has found herself as mother and older sister and teacher all three... who has found friends here, the first friends she has ever had.

She hadn't known how much that might _hurt_ until she found Claude _dead_.

He had been- he had _just_ been alive, she'd _just_ talked to him- she was coming back to clear up some earlier point. He was always so talkative, and she liked talking to him, he didn't think she was weird, he filled the gaps where she still felt uncomfortable with her words.

But then she opened the door and... and he was dead.

He was just... he was broken, he just _lay_ there, he wasn't talking, he wasn't breathing, he was _dead_ and... and... she'd always reset _before_ they died, _before_ they got hurt, she'd never had to see one of their bodies before...

Reset!

_RESET!_

The Divine Pulse. Once more, she turns back time, once more, she seeks to save Claude.

Once more.

She is down the hall when the Pulse finishes. Sothis yelled at her to move but she needed no encouragement, she flew down the hall, desperate to outrun death. Byleth, hoping against hope that Claude was still alive, threw his door open, and in that second when she opened the door and saw him still sitting there, and the masked figure behind him, she felt something so powerful that even her beatless heart shook.

It was red, this something, this strange thing she had never felt before, something that welled up from so deep inside her that her voice and Sothis' voice were _one_ voice, one desperate roar, the warcry of the mother bear and the howl of the father wolf.

It was something born of _love_ , an anger born of caring about someone so much that you could not stomach seeing them hurt, and she had never felt this before, had never needed to, had never _cared_ like this before... but now, she did.

Hubert had, by accident, taught the Professor a lesson... he had taught her to feel _anger_.

In the seconds before she impacted with him, and saved her precious student, Byleth knew only this; the assassin would beg for death before they died.

-

She had him. That was all there was to it; she had him, dead to rights.

He didn't know how. All he knew was that one moment he was about to deal with Edelgard's main distraction, and the next, he was laying prone. Byleth had tackled him so fast and so fiercely that he had not even registered hitting the ground, had barely seen her open the door.

He caught a glimpse of her face, which would haunt his nightmares until the day he died- a vision of apocalyptic fury, her eyes inhuman slits, her throat emitting a horrific scream, putting the fear of the Goddess in him. He thought he saw fangs and a light in her mouth...

But even as he tried to escape, she attacked. She slugged him. The mask, made of steel, _cracked_ , and while Byleth would later find out she had fractured her knuckles doing it, in the fit of rage gripping her, it slowed her down not at all.

The head behind that mask suffered worse; with the floor directly beneath him, Hubert couldn't roll with the blow, and so his skull was bounced viciously from fist to stone. He raised a hand to spellcast, falling back on his training, but Byleth grabbed his gloved fingers with both her hands and _wrenched_ , breaking all of them in a single go.

Hubert did not scream, but it was a close thing, as he put his legs and left hand into the business of pushing him away from the berserker on top of him. She slugged him again, the mask cracking further, and Hubert began to panic even through the blinding pain; if his face was seen... too easy to trace to Lady Edelgard. He.. he hadn't expected this, he had not met anyone who could take him in combat in all his years, but looking up now, into a face so full of apocalyptic fury, he realized that he was a dead man if he stayed here.

Claude had just begun to turn around, and damn him, his brain had already realized what his eyes were seeing; he practically fell out of his chair, trying to grab Hubert. Hubert's left hand finished a spell they didn't notice, and bubbling darkness burst out of him in a spray; Claude rolled to dodge, removing him as an obstacle for a moment.

But the mercenary, she... she just plowed right through it, like some avatar of divine wrath, she just grit her sharpened teeth as shadowed poison slipped into her soul and _ignored_ it. She slugged him in the face one more time, before apparently deciding that course of action wasn't working... so she grabbed his throat in her hands. She was _growling_ , savage as a rabid dog, she had his throat in her hands and his left arm flailed, groping blindly for something to defend himself with, as his esophagus was squeezed shut, as fingers stronger than steel were driven like nails past his suit's thin metal armor and directly into his bruising flesh.

It found the windowsill he'd climbed in, and he grabbed it, using the leverage to rise up swiftly, giving his feet purchase, his sudden rise temporarily dislodging the mercenary from his throat. His head began to swim as he rose to his feet- a concussion, some part of him noted clinically. As hard as she'd hit him, not a surprise.

He had no more time, though, because the next thing he registered was a bolt of pain as she slammed her fist so hard into his crotch that she burst the metal he wore there to shreds, nearly sending him to his knees again as his groin exploded into pain. She grabbed his right leg next, still in the half-crouch she'd fallen into when she slid off of him, down at his shin, and with pure brute force she snapped it in her bare hands, breaking his leg with a sickening snap of wet bone.

Claude, recovering from his roll, added his aid to her assault, grabbing the paperweight on his desk and with dead-eyed accuracy whipping it straight into Hubert's left hand, cracking his knuckles, knocking it away from the window and removing the dark mage's only source of stability.

Hubert began to fall to the floor, collapsing, his leg unable to lift him, his right hand a mass of pain, his head reeling. This... this was how he died? He had underestimated Byleth so much... Lady Edelgard- Edie- I'm so sorry... his mind became a mass of horror, he could not... what had he done? They would kill her if he was found...

It took him a second to realize he had stopped falling. Byleth had grabbed his legs, something he hadn't even felt, and as she rose she lifted him bodily, he rose with her and he did not know why- not until the fresh air blew in through the cracks in his mask.

She was throwing him out the window. The realization woke him back up, and he began to cast again, his bruised left hand dancing the familiar steps of teleportation, even as she let go and he began to fall.

But he'd forgotten that she could cast, too.

He heard her voice rolling like thunder as she commanded the light to aid her, and from his position, his terrified mind could only think of pictures he had seen of the Goddess entering judgment on sinners, his cracked skull saw for just one second a small girl with green hair where Byleth stood.

In her rage, the mercenary cast faster than he did; even as he was about to finish his spell and teleport away, she completed hers, and light as hot as a thunderbolt slammed into his entire body.

Hubert _did_ scream then, as the light tore at his skin like the burning swords of angels, as he caught fire, falling and screaming and burning even as he managed to finish his spell, and warped away, his mind not knowing where he had to go but knowing he had to go _somewhere_.

-

“ What the hell was that, Teach?” Claude asked, breathing hard, as his professor and savior- twice over, now- stared out the window. The backwash of her spell was still lighting the sky up like it was noon; he'd never even _seen_ a holy spell that large before. Had Byleth just invented one right there? Or, given how fast she'd thrown it, had she just taken an ordinary spell and put the weight of a mountain behind it?

She turned to him, her face a snarl, almost more frightening than the assassination attempt had been. Teach... didn't _do_ emotions. But right here, she had her teeth literally bared, and Claude would swear that there was something... _sharper_ about them.

( Later, he will realize _why_ , when he sees the teeth of a Nabataean, and all truth comes out.)

But then, on seeing him, her snarl receded, and something equally surprising covered her face; _tears_.

“ Claude?” she whispered, and slowly reached out to him like a drowning woman, moved to touch his face. “ You were dead... Claude. _Claude_.”

And she grabbed him and sobbed, and Claude just stood there for a few seconds, completely confounded, until Hilda ran and opened his door, other students behind her.

“ What the hell happened?” she asked, the noise having attracted all of them. Claude realized with a bit of a dazed sensation that the entire encounter had taken mere seconds.

“ Somebody just tried to kill me,” Claude said, still dazed, as Byleth sobbed into his chest, his hands shaking from adrenaline as he put them around her. “ Teach just saved my life.”

Edelgard, in the back, noticed Hubert's door shut, and horrified, quietly disappeared, figuring it out as she went.

-

Hubert landed directly outside Bernadetta's door, still smoldering, still shattered. He had been angling for the inside of his own room, but in the last second, his memories had flashed to Bernadetta's room, as he thought of safe places no one ever looked; but having never been inside, his spell only took him to the door outside it.

Edelgard, who had stepped outside, saw him land, and ran to him. By dumb luck, no one else was around, too busy talking to Claude, or asleep, and unaware yet of what had happened. Edelgard saw his condition- saw how he was out cold- and knew she would never move him in time to somewhere safe.

The thought evoked panic in her heart. Even as mad as she was- as _furious_ as she was- she did not want her oldest ally and oldest friend to die. But she could not save him, there was nowhere to take him...

Unless...

Edelgard rolled the dice, and carrying Hubert bodily, knocked on Bernadetta's door.

“ Bernie, please, open the door,” Edelgard begged quietly, and the archer, who had been on the slightest verge of sleep, awoke to the sound of what was now her oldest friend.

( Bernie's longest friendship is a thing of months. If her entire life was not such a disaster, she would weep.)

Bernie opened the door, and Edelgard shoved her way in, with Hubert in her hands, burned skin peeling off of him as she went.

“ What-” Bernie asked, too surprised to scream, nearly blacking out.

“ I... Bernie, I am begging you for your trust,” Edelgard said quickly as she pulled a pack off of her belt, one full of various items for healing. Paranoia had taught her how to be terribly well-prepared. “ Hubert's hurt and we have to stay silent. Shut the door, please.”

“ Hubie's hurt?” Bernadetta asked as she shut the door and, on reflex, locked it. “ I... what hapepned, Edie?”

“ I...” Edelgard ransacked her brain as she poured a first round of thickened vulnerary onto Hubert's torso, but there were no lies for this, what had happened would be public knowledge soon, she... Goddess, what could she say? “ Hubert attempted to kill someone he thought was a threat to me. He made a mistake. A terrible mistake. But... please. He's my oldest friend, Bernie. Don't tell anyone. Let me heal him.”

“ Kill someone?” Bernie squeaked- and then took in Hubert's attire. Edelgard had not thought to remove his mask, had been so worried she just ran in... and Bernadetta's gasp told Edelgard that she _knew_ that mask, recognized it from a dozen posters.

The archer turned wide eyes on Edelgard, and the princess swallowed hard, staring back at her.

“ Please trust me,” she begged, Edelgard the Person again, the way she had been with Bernadetta at the start, the first person in all of Garreg Mach who had ever truly spoken with her.

Bernadetta swallowed hard, too. “ Why?” she asked.

“ I will tell you everything later,” Edelgard said, “ but... please. Help me- he needs- please.”

Bernadetta had plead like that too, once. Bernadetta had not thought anyone would help her either, once.

“ My bed,” Bernadetta said, “ My- he'll be more comfortable. Move him there.”

Edelgard put him there, lifted him easily with her mutated strength, knocking blanket and pillow aside to place his lean, lanky form atop it. She stripped his clothes off, hiding the mask and the burned rags of his armor and cloak beneath the bed, to be disposed of later- if there was a later. If Bernadetta did not, right now, run screaming out of this room, and tell all Garreg Mach everything there was to know about her and her retainer.

But even as Edelgard laid out an elixir and a series of bandages soaked in vulnerary, she heard shouts, she heard the Knights calling out to each other. They were... they were going to start searching. They'd search each student's room, there was... there was no way they'd have _time_.

“ Bernadetta,” Edelgard said, realizing she was caught, lost, that her war was over, “ flee. Go to Rhea and tell her I stole your room. That way she'll spare you. Guide them to us. We're caught either way, but if you are the one that turns us in, she won't... she won't hurt you.”

Bernadetta stared at her, at Edelgard, who even now, realizing she was going to die, could not weep. At Hubert, who was usually so scary, but now was just a mangled form inches away from being a corpse. At... at her _friends_.

Goddess. They were her _friends_. She didn't know if Edie was the Flame Emperor, but they were definitely at least working for them, that was what the mask on Hubert's face meant. And even having the thought made her realize that of _course_ Edelgard was the Flame Emperor, she was a dork and couldn't name anything to save her life, of _course_ her beautiful, strong, dumbass friend had named her alter ego something so incredibly obvious. The only reason no one else had figured it out was because it was _too_ obvious, and everyone assumed that no one sane would call themselves by their own rightful title.

Edie. Edie, who Rhea would kill, if she found out.

And... and even Hubert was her friend. She _liked_ Hubie. He was scary, but... but everyone was scary to Bernie, the irony was that Hubert might be _scarier_ than most people but all people were equally scary to her, so who cared if he was supposed to be _extra_ terrifying? People were horrifying to Bernie anyway. And Hubert, he was better than most people, because he'd been nice to her when he didn't have to be, and all Bernie has ever wanted was someone to be kind. Who cared what he'd done to others? No one in all the world was good to Bernie except Edelgard and Hubert...

Well, that wasn't quite true... the other Black Eagles, they were pretty good, too. Dorothea was so sweet, she was so sweet to her, and Petra was so kind... and she hoped to get to know Linhardt and Caspar too, if things kept going the way they were, she'd get to know them too. They were all her friends.

It's almost like a miracle, to think about that. She has _friends_ now, there is something in her life other than fear and the dark and the chair. These are her only friends in all the _world_ , and she owes them to Edie, who made her feel safe, who made her feel safe enough to become friends with the others.

Edie... who somehow is hurt the way Bernie is hurt, on the inside, where it never goes away. Who is the Flame Emperor, and responsible for evil... but... but she'd promised to explain, later. She _trusted_ Edie, she trusted that she would tell her _why_.

But she'll never get the chance. Rhea will kill her. She will kill Hubie. She will have them both executed, and then thrown into a mass grave, not just dead but dishonored... Rhea will kill them if she finds out, and the Knights are already so close, she can hear them converging on the dorms.

If she finds out.

Bernie sees her bow and arrow set nearby, and looks at the heavy cloth of her pillowcase on the floor, her extra lamp on the table nearby, and thinks of the torches along the walls of Garreg Mach, kept everlit. Thinks of how hot and dry these last few weeks have been. Thinks of how the bow and arrow were a gift from Hubie, who she would not have the strength to know but for Edie, and she owes them so very, very much, and how they will die with all her debt unfulfilled if Rhea finds out what they've done.

_If_ she finds out.

The plan springs to life in her mind full-formed, and her fear warns her of the dangers. She will be making an enemy of the Church. Lady Rhea, who scares her so much, will want her dead, _personally_ , for this. She will... she will be declaring war on all the continent, just like Edie has. If she does this, if she helps in any way, she will be making a corpse out of herself.

But if she doesn't do this.... then Rhea will find out. And if she finds out, then her friends die... she'll kill them. Bernadetta will be all alone again, and there will just be father and all his disappointment. Not... not this terrible sweetness called _happiness_ that she has never had in such abundance, before. She'll lose it all to Rhea.

_If she finds out._

The coin of choice flips through her skull, once, twice, three times.

She calls it, and makes her choice.

Bernadetta bolts, rips the pillowcase off her pillow on the floor and grabs her bow. Edelgard, surprised by her actions, reaches a hand out to her, takes a strong grip on her arm. Bernie whips around to look her in the face.

“ Trust me!” Bernadetta hissed to her, eyes wild and alight and... and _fearless_ , for just a second the scared, shy girl her father made of her is gone and there is only courage and loyalty in her bones. “ Trust me! I'll buy time!”

Edelgard, who wants to live, who wants Hubert to live, who wants all this to work out, sees the look in her eyes and... let go.

Bernie nods, then grabs her lamp and is gone, out the door, leaving Edelgard hoping desperately that her trust is not misplaced.

Bernie hopes so, too. Her plan is a thing of moments and desperation, something jury-rigged; she hopes it will serve the purpose. An arrow, thick cloth wrapped hastily around the tip, lamp oil dumped over what had been a pillowcase but moments before- and on Bernie's own shoes in her haste, but Goddess, she had to do this _fast_. A torch, repurposed briefly from its socket, quickly dropped to her feet without a care. A bow, her own personal bow, the magical silver humming as she drew back hard on it, to the bow's limits, the burning arrow on it spraying heat all over her fearless face, uncaring of the strain in her muscles.

She couldn't see her goal from here; she just had to guess. She had to plan a blind shot in the dark under a time limit; but she felt no panic. Worry ran in her veins like blood... but she did not panic.

She aimed for a long moment, and when she released her arrow alongside her breath, she felt no fear.

The burning arrow sailed in a perfect arc and landed precisely where Bernie hoped, though she would not know that until later. At this distance, at night, under all this pressure, somehow Bernie's trembling, terrified hands have made all her choices perfectly; the burning arrow lands in the thickest of the hedges outside the cafeteria... where the dry weather and hot summer sun have left the area vulnerable to fire.

She had sailed clear past the classrooms with her magnificent shot, and stuck it deep where it had plenty of fuel. Soon, flames roar as the hedges catch and all the carefully maintained order of the place is subsumed by chaotic fire, spreading so fast it seems alive. A new rose has Bernadetta planted in this garden, a crimson flower, and it blossoms into a firestorm. Shouts go up in alarm, and bells are rung, to get everyone on firefighting duty, as the hungry beast of flame seeks new tinder for its appetite, licking the mess hall first.

Bernie runs back to her room. Students might be asked to help; but Bernie... Bernie can hide in her room, claim she's too weak to come out, and they'll believe it. Her timidity is the alibi she needs, and her room can be the shelter Hubert requires.

“ Get to your room,” she says as she slides in the door, locking it behind her, Edelgard glancing around fearfully as she hears the shouts and alarms. “ I set fire to the gardens. They'll be seeking students out for firefighting duty, and forget all about hunting the assassin. Leave Hubert, I'll tend him; everyone knows Bernie wants to stay in. Can you come up with something to explain his absence, Edie?”

Edelgard stares at her, as if she's wondering who replaced her, and Bernie snaps her fingers before she's aware she's done it, taking her cue from something she had seen Dorothea do a few times.

“ Edie, wake up! No time to panic.”

The sheer absurdity of hearing _Bernadetta_ say that wakes the princess up.

“ I can come up with something, yes,” Edelgard said.

“ Good, now get out of here,” Bernadetta said. “ I'll take care of him.”

The princess flees, but not before Edelgard says, sounding lost and awed, “ Thank you.”

Bernie nods, and she feels almost heroic, as the door shuts, and she is alone at last with only aching Hubert for company.

The panic and fear set in later, but they are not so strong, the memory of her courage keeps them at bay. They even help; when the knock comes, her panicked squeak is taken as a sign she will not leave, and the Knights give up, moving on to students who _can_ help fight the fire. The fire had spread with incredible rapidity, and come morning, Bernie will learn that she destroyed the mess hall, and damaged numerous other buildings besides.

But this night, she doesn't know anything. She knows only that there is a lot of _noise_ outside, and that Hubert is breathing very shallowly. She does what she can, puts half-remembered lessons of battlefield medicine to the task. She applies vulnerary-soaked bandages to the burns all over his nearly naked body, she sets splints to his shattered leg and broken fingers, and she does her best to very carefully not look at him... though she cannot help but see all his old scars, and the wiry, thin muscle of his body, the way his body is so strong and so... _built_. Not in the overwhelming style of brute strength, but that's good; she's frightened of men like that, reminds her too much of her father.

But Hubert's lithe form, _that_ she must admit she finds attractive, and the scars... this is a man who has done things, this is a man who has pushed on past incredible pain to achieve his goals. She... finds that rather... admirable.

She has to put that aside for now, and does so with some effort, focuses on the task at hand. When his breathing steadies and deepens, she risks waking him up- just a little- to pour the elixir Edelgard had brought into his mouth.

“ E- Ed... Lady...” he mumbles as she stirs him to wakefulness.

“ Shhh, shhh,” she whispers to him. “ Edie's okay. She's okay. You're going to be okay, too, okay? I... I've got you, Bernie's got you. You're safe. I'm safe in my room, so you're safe in my room, we're all safe and okay.”

She's so nervous that she's using the word okay like a comma, but when he tries to get up, she finds the courage to pin him down. It's not hard, and that's a sign of just how badly hurt he is; Hubert should have been able to chuck her around the room like a sack of potatoes, no matter how strong her archery has made her arms. But instead, when she puts a little pressure on him, he cannot resist, is forced to lay back down.

She stays like that, leaned over him, remembering the elixir after a few moments and lifting the bottle to his burned lips. His lips try to grip the edge like a baby hunting a nipple, but fail until Bernie nearly has to stuff the bottle into his mouth. He's still so out of it... what did Byleth _do_? Goddess, the Professor is scarier than she thought, to take Hubert and put him into such a state. Had it not been for his armor and the mask, he would be dead; as it stands, he is alive, but barely.

She needs him to drink, and so words fall out of her lips, all without her conscious thought.

“ C'mon, drink, that's... Edie needs you strong, you have to recover. You've only got tonight before people start asking questions. So drink up and heal up and... and you'll be okay.”

He sips, and the elixir works its magic, healing him; scars blossoming into new flesh, ash peeling from burnt skin to reveal pink growth beneath. He sips, and when it is done, the bottle empty, he lays there in pain, Bernadetta still curled up all about him.

She remembers that her mother used to sing to her, before her father ordered it stopped, believing it weakened her; and remembered how comforting that had been.

So she sings a memory, softly, to Hubert. She doesn't know what he thinks of it- she probably sounds horrible- but it works something on her; she falls asleep cradling him.

( Hubert will remember nothing from after his teleport... nothing, except soothing darkness, gentle hands tending him and a gentle voice, singing to him. Hubert was a man who had built himself entirely out of edges, but this kindness touches the last of the softness inside him, wraps a hilt around the great blade of his soul; and he falls asleep before Bernie does, to the sound of the shy girl's quiet lullaby.)

Come the morning, Bernadetta awakes to find herself curled around a very awake, mostly naked Hubert, who will give her a long, long sideways glance, the kind that asked a lot of very specific questions about why one was waking up half-naked in bed with someone else.

Bernadetta, who had set fire to Garreg Mach to defend her friends, who had chosen to make the most powerful woman on the continent her enemy of her own free will, will do the only thing she can: she squeaks in terror and passes dead out.

( Hubert sighs as he looks at her, but the sigh has some echo of fondness as he realizes who it was that tended to him, and he will dress himself before rousing her to ask what has happened in his absence.. and, shuddering, he ponders what will happen now, because of his failure.)

-

When they have a moment alone in Edelgard's room the next day- Hubert's absence excused as him taking a trip into the town that took all night- Edelgard grabbed his head in both her hands, and put her forehead to his.

“ Never again,” she whispered to him. “ Hubert, never again. You would have died, except that Bernadetta is so faithful. And... Hubert, I told you _no_.”

“ It was needed,” he argued, though his mind flashed back to Byleth shattering him with her fists alone, and all the consequences if he had been caught, and his arguments died in his throat.

“ But when I make an order, it is to be _obeyed_ ,” Edelgard said. “ Hubert, I trust you, I trust you with so _much_ \- do you know how this hurt, to have you betray me?”

He said nothing, could say nothing, and she carried on.

“ Hubert... if you do this again... if you disobey me again... I will turn myself in.”

“ Lady Edelgard!” he said, snapping his eyes open to look at hers- but they were steady and unwavering, utterly without compromise.

“ I mean it, Hubert. It is the only punishment that can stop you. I will do it, Hubert. I have to know that when I say no, or I say yes, that the order that goes out is the one I gave. You cannot substitute your judgment for mine. Give me counsel, give me your best advice... but trust me, as I trust you, when I give command. Already the Agarthans do as they wish, mocking my requests. Why would you hurt me like this?”

(Somewhere in the Deer's classroom, Ferdinand suddenly feels as if he has won an argument he didn't know he was having, and he makes himself a celebratory tea.)

A tear of regret slipped down Hubert's face. He had not... “ I did not know it would hurt you so. I never meant for you to find out.”

“ That doesn't precisely make it better,” Edelgard managed to chuckle about... but then she squeezed his head gently in her hands. “ You matter to me. I almost lost you. You're my friend. Don't do this to me. I would have lost you and been betrayed by you both, and it would have destroyed me, Hubert. Stay. I will trust you again, but you _have_ to never do this again. Even if you think I will never find out.”

“ You have my word,” he said, and they stayed like that for just a little while longer.

-

Claude showed up to their weekly game, though he had a new hanger-on in Hilda, who was so tense and on-edge that even the Knights of Seiros felt their hackles rise in her presence. Edelgard stood up to greet him, but the image that filled her mind as she looked at him was Claude, dead. Dead as her siblings, dead as all the Adrestians who have drowned in her dreams, dead as... as she hopes to make his entire nation, one day.

Dead.

So when she stood up... she hugged him.

It was on reflex, in the grip of emotion. she was absolutely startled to do it. It was the first time in _years_ she had hugged _anyone_.

But still she did it. She wrapped her arms around him, and she held him tight, took in the scent of him, that thin layer of Almyran desert, high and clean and pure, his light cologne his own private joke about his dark skin.

“ You're alive,” she whispered into his shoulder. Something more powerful than her self-control was in charge now, something _better_. “ You're _alive_.”

He was heavy and warm and alive, real under her arms, she felt the heavy musculature of his chest and arms where his long days of archery are making muscle on him, felt the fine leather of his cape and the smoothness of his jacket front. She felt the warm heat of him, this desert son, this warrior of the sun, and something cold and hurt inside her was soothed by his warmth.

“ I am,” he said, softly, and he held her too, tight and respectful, arms around her waist. There was no hint of Claude the Schemer in those two words, no trace of the smiling boy who practiced a devil-may-care attitude around the school, claiming assassinations didn't bother him. There was only Claude the Person, who got scared, who was grateful to be alive, who put his own arms around her and hugged her back.

( She is so small and so strong, she practically thrums with supernatural energy, and it feels good, that someone so strong should be so concerned for him. She is born to water and the dark, he can feel it in her skin, it is fire she conjures but she is cold inside, so cold. He finds it comforting; like cool rags to a fevered forehead, it calms him, it clears his head. It refreshes, a cool breeze on a hot day, and when she holds him tight he feels safe, the way he has not felt since an assassin attacked him three days ago.)

After a moment, propriety and her self-control slammed down, and she let go as if burned; but he understood, and when they sat down, they did not talk about that hug. The only evidence it had happened was a lightness in Hilda's step, and a small smile tossed Edelgard's way before she went back to her grim watch.

But Claude slept better that night than he had since the attack, and Hilda, keeping guard in the room's corner, silently asked the Goddess to bless Edelgard for her kindness.

-

Byleth is hurt for some time after saving Claude; she had done what so many do in an adrenaline rush, and thrown her body past all its limits. Her right hand takes weeks to truly heal, and she is forced to rely on magic during their missions, which says nothing of how her back aches after throwing the assassin out the window. She recovers in time to fight Miklan, but just barely, and is in the infirmary the next day.

She regrets none of it. Claude was alive. Anything, _anything_ , was worth it, to keep her precious students alive.

But Claude had paid attention to what she said... and in time, asked her about what she'd said. About him being dead. The way she spoke, as if she'd _seen_ it.

So, afraid for her student's lives, and deciding to trust them, Byleth gathered the Deer together, and she told them _everything_.

-

The investigation lasts awhile, but everyone knows the Flame Emperor is after the monastery; it's no surprise that arson might be involved, that someone calling themselves the _Flame_ Emperor would resort to fire to cover their tracks. The guard around Claude is doubled, not just in Knights of Seiros but with his Deer, too, who now try to maintain guard shifts just out of tune enough with the Knights that no one is ever left alone too long. It makes it damn hard to do anything; Edelgard berates Hubert for his attempt several times, as the Deer and the Knights' increased security inadvertently foils several of her attempts to communicate with her forces.

The security is not just patrols, either; some students take to sleeping in each other's rooms so that someone is always available to stand watch. It's technically illegal, but given the seriousness of what has happened, no one questions it.

Hilda, in particular, basically abandons her own room and moves in with Claude, and were it not for her very obvious relationship with Marianne, tongues would wag; as it is, Hilda is so serious about keeping watch that it's almost disturbing. The once-lazy girl now no longer bothers to hide the depths of her devotion, to hide that she is ever-faithful, and her face is now often set in grim lines as she stands guard for Claude. The girl once fond of naps had taken to sleeping according to a schedule that shifted constantly, and in a pattern so undecipherable that even Hubert couldn't figure out when she was on guard and when she would be sleeping.

Claude's window is replaced with a set of iron shields, nailed to the walls with Hilda's Crest-driven strength and a lot of determination, and soon, all the Deer adopt the paranoid measure. Edelgard is simultaneously impressed, and feels like she should tell them it's unnecessary; such an attack won't come again, at least, not by her hands. This attack hadn't come from her, either, but she thinks she has found a leash for Hubert, and he settles down at last.

The hunt for the assassin continues, but leads are lost in the need to keep the rest of the school from burning; the chaos of the fire means no one knows where the assassin went. Some even suggest that the assassin's burning body is what started the fire, and that theory becomes popular, with some help from the Eagles. Rhea offers tremendous reward, but gets nowhere.

A makeshift tent is established that serves as the mess hall until the day Garreg Mach is shut down once and for all; it functions well enough, though Raphael swears bloody vengeance on whatever monster burned it down. Bernadetta gives him a wide berth, but she gives everyone a wide berth, so no one notices.

And so life goes on, for a little while, at Garreg Mach... but the white clouds begin to grow gray.

The storm is coming.

-

Two days later, when things settled down, Edelgard invited her to her room under the pretense of a game; Bernadetta went, a little nervous, and a little scared. Edelgard was the Flame Emperor; and while Bernadetta helped her, she was not so naive that she didn't realize that, perhaps, Edelgard will now regard her as merely a loose end. Perhaps Bernadetta's kindness will get her killed, and count for nothing in the end.

But... she hoped it would not. She... she hoped that Edelgard was truly her friend, no matter how much she had lied about anything else.

So she went, and entered Edelgard's room with the air of one before either execution or salvation, shutting the door with a sense of finality.

When the door was shut, after a moment in which Edelgard and Bernadetta looked at each other, really _looked_ at each other, Edelgard smiled at her.

“ Can I hug you?” Edelgard asked, and Bernadetta, surprised, shyly nodded.

Edelgard enveloped her, hugged her tight.

“ Thank you,” Edelgard whispered into her ear, and the princess was _so strong_ , how was all this strength contained in her tiny form? “ You have saved my life, Bernie. You... I... thank you, Bernie.”

“ You're my friend,” Bernadetta whispered back, and smiled, hugging her friend tight. It felt... it felt good. So often have the touches of other people been bruises and backhands, hurt and pain; but this feels... this feels soft, and safe.

After a long moment, Edelgard pulled away, still smiling.

“ I... I owe you an explanation... I owe you so much,” Edelgard said, only barely louder than a whisper, and Bernie realized that she is regarding little Bernie with something like... like awe, this Adrestian princess was looking at Count Varley's most unwanted child as though she was someone impossibly precious. She was looking at her as though there was worth in her that Bernie has never been able to find, some hidden and precious treasure that Bernie, told all her life she was worthless, cannot believe she possessed.

Bernie blushed, and looked away. No one has ever looked at her like that before, no one has ever looked at Bernie and been _impressed_ before, and she found it a warm and brilliant thing she could not look at directly for fear of being blinded.

“ It was nothing,” she demurred, and Edelgard barked a surprised laugh before returning to her quiet whispers.

“ You set fire to the school!” Edelgard whispered, and her face was half hysterical and half dumbfounded. “ That's... that's not... _nothing_.”

“ Well, I mean... I always did call myself Bernie, Edie,” the shy girl replied.

Edelgard paused at that, Bernie turning to look at her frozen expression... and then she burst into guffaws, laughing so hard that all her layers fell off of her and there was only Edelgard the Person there. Bernie laughed with her, not her shy giggles but big belly laughs; it is the best joke she has ever told, and it only took her all her life and an act of treason to tell it.

They quieted down, finally, but the laughter took some unknown weakness out of Bernie's spine; she stood up a little straighter, she felt a bit stronger. Something in the laughter had blown some weakness in her to rags and atoms at a blast, and left her a better person than she had been a moment before.

“ Oh, I... wow,” Edelgard said, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. She did not cry for sorrow, but laughter could still get her tear ducts flowing. More quietly, she said, “ I... Bernie, I will never be able to thank you enough. I owe you a tremendous debt.”

Bernie shrugged, and whispered back, aware now that she was part of something great and secret, that she had chosen the Flame in her Emperor, and that now was the time for secrets and quiet- but she had always been good at being quiet, hadn't she?

“ You... you've already paid me, Edie. You've paid me in the only coin I value. You're my friend. You and Hubie and... and everybody. You're the only friends I have. I'm not so scared when I'm with you. For that, I feel like... I feel like I've not paid _you_ enough, Edelgard. I feel like I owe _you_ a debt and... and for you... for you, I think I'd burn all Fodlan. That's what we're doing, right?”

Edelgard sighed, but in a good way, and squeezed Bernie's shoulder. “ I'll tell you,” she said. “ I... I'd say there is no going back... but I will not insult your loyalty or your capability by implying you would ever turn away.”

Bernie nodded. “ Well, whatever it is, I'm in.”

“ I know,” Edelgard said, and smiled at her. “ Knowing my dreams not, you still have served me, in each and every way have you served me. You are my most faithful one, Bernadetta, for you do not even know my goals, but still you serve. I'm... I'm humbled by your loyalty, Bernadetta. You make me so proud.”

Bernadetta the Person, who she was underneath the chair and her abuse, smiled bravely at Edelgard, and Edelgard the Person smiled back.

-

Hubert's regard is delivered more quietly; a single perfect black rose, the absolute pick of the greenhouse, paid for honestly and delivered to her door anonymously, though she knows who sent it. No one else would think the gesture appropriate, but she likes it; black roses for funerals, maybe, but Black for Eagles, too, black for a girl who liked the dark quiet of her room and the boy whose hands summoned shadow.

She breathes in its fragrance, and finds it sweet.

( And so it was that the banner of the Flame Emperor finds another one of the faithful, and a fire-eyed mask is fashioned for this new and most loyal soldier, who declared her devotion to the Emperor with Flame.)


	3. Similarity, Fianchetto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys.
> 
> MY COMPUTER DELETED EVERYTHING I WROTE FOR THIS STORY. Long story short, battery problems caused a short that corrupted a bunch of files, and this one was one of them.
> 
> I've lost over 10,000 words.
> 
> I'm working on recovering it. What I'm uploading now was meant to be just the opening to the proper Chapter 3. I'm separating it out so that I don't get too far behind on my update schedule. 
> 
> I'd apologize for how short this is, but honestly, given what happened, I'm just glad to get it out there.

**Similarity, Fianchetto**

She woke up after a long night of nightmares, blunted with chemical aids. A retainer, loyal for years, helped her get ready for the day, having already arranged her schedule and prepared what she needed. She put a mask of sanity on top of things that would destroy a lesser person- on pain deep as the ocean, on grief wide as the sky, on rage hot as the sun. In service to a great plan, her will and her ambition drove her past her suffering, and gave her strength- but she did not see how that very strength rendered her incapable of growth or change, and made a monster out of her.

Her name was Rhea, and today she was taking tea with Byleth.

“ Seteth,” she said to her faithful right hand, holding up a small invitation in her right hand, “ please see that this message reaches Professor Eisner, won't you?”

Seteth quirked an eyebrow at her, as he had gotten into a habit of doing whenever talk turned to Byleth. He did not understand her obsession... or perhaps he did. Rhea had always suspected Seteth of knowing more of her experiments than he let on... but he was focused on his daughter, and so he let it slide.

( He was the last father among the Nabatea, perhaps the last there would ever be... but skip that thought, Rhea, do not ponder the horrific abyss before you. Move on. Move on.)

The morning proceeded apace. Rhea filled out orders, did paperwork. After the attack on young Duke Riegan, security details and needs had vastly increased; she'd had to pull Knights of Seiros from non-essential postings all over Fodlan. She'd mostly withdrawn them from Faerghus; the holy Kingdom generally handled its own affairs, and it wasn't like the Church needed to watch over something called the _Holy_ Kingdom. Throwing her weight behind Loog had been the right decision, all those years ago.

She considered him as she worked. As much as she would always be fond of Adrestia- first and most loyal of the nations made by her hand- it had needed... taming. That was the right word, perhaps. It was too big, too powerful, too capable of pulling out of her control- and she couldn't have that. She was the last of Sothis' children, she had to be the guide humanity needed. She could not let them escape her grip, or her guidance; they needed it. She had to do it, for her people, for Sothis, dead all these long years.

( It did not occur to Rhea, as it had failed to occur to her for a thousand years, that the grief-stricken survivor of a genocide, who had self-appointed herself as Fodlan's steward, was perhaps not the best person to provide that guidance.)

One reason she disliked Leceister. That group of ragtag nobles, and the merchant houses beneath them... too... chaotic for her tastes. An orderly Fodlan, with everything in order, her people remembered and venerated, and human lives happy and settled. That was what she wanted.

( The truth that might destroy Edelgard if she knew it was this: Rhea had done all the terrible harm she had done not out of malice, but out of desperation, she sought to save what she could of her people in human memory, and every awful act she had done in service to that ideal she had justified to herself. They were so alike, and it might save Edelgard, to realize how much harm you could do in pursuit of a good goal, how the road to Hell was paved with so many good intentions...)

Well... this wasn't _all_ that she wanted. One thing more... her mother, alive, so that she could resurrect her people, and take from Rhea's shoulders the burden of all the world...

And such a burden it was, and more was added, all the time. Byleth herself was an example of her burdens, though the professor knew nothing of the truth.

Rhea pondered that. Her last experiment had failed- wasn't her mother, was just a person- and she had done what she'd always done. She put her creation to work in the monastery. Rhea would like to say she saw her creations as her daughters, but she did not; no, they were just failures, they weren't her mother, she had... she had failed, every time, and looking at them _hurt_ , it _hurt,_ to know what she had tried to make, and seeing what was actually there.

Still, she was not cruel. Rhea, be all her sins remembered, had never been one for cruelty; swift and ruthless retribution, perhaps, but she did not linger over her enemies' suffering, did not relish their pain. A good trait; it was probably why she'd been able to stop with Nemesis, instead of tormenting all humanity.

So instead of hurting her failed creations, she had set them up to live lives of comfort and peace. She owned the Church of Seiros, after all; it wasn't that hard to find them good places to live out their lives, where they could also be watched, just in case the fire of the Goddess might yet manifest inside them.

It never had, but Rhea did not hold that against them. It wasn't their fault they weren't what Rhea wanted anyway; that was the Archbishop's fault, her hands clumsy at the work of the monstrous science of Agartha, and the knowledge of it only added to the despair inside her, trickling down into her heart.

( This difference did exist between Edelgard and Rhea, otherwise each other's kin; whereas the fire of Edelgard's fury dominated her, Rhea drowned in an ocean of sorrow. It wasn't that they lacked the other emotion, but that there was a difference in which one predominated; Edelgard's furious heart burned as an oil fire atop an ocean of despair, whereas Rhea's heart was smothered under an icy abyss, her anger like underwater volcanoes, hidden boils of rage that let loose some of her pain from time to time.)

Twelve failures, over the long years. Twelve; she remembered wondering what would go wrong with _this_ one even as she made unlucky twelve, whose name she never said to herself, could _not_ say to herself. Rhea had hurt her too much to be allowed that memory; she was unworthy to remember her creation's name.

Twelve, who was not Sothis, as none of them were; and so Rhea had shrugged, and placed the child in her monastery, to live in peace. You got used to mistakes after twelve of them.

Then came Jeralt, who had nearly died for her; Jeralt, who had leapt before a fatal blow from ambush. Jeralt, whom she had slit her wrists open for, that he might live. The soft smile on his rough face, as his life returned to him in a rush from her holy blood, reminding her of how Wilhelm had smiled, all those years ago.

( She still remembered Edelgard's ancestor fondly; a humble man, who had approached her not to become an Emperor, but with hopes that her support could save his people from Nemesis. Of all the humans she had shared her blood with, Wilhelm had always felt like the one most worthy; she still remembered the happiness in his eyes, the awe, as she made him more than human. He had been a friend, a rare thing for a lonely dragon...)

Jeralt, who had come to the monastery too, and in time, found unlucky twelve. She remembered her faint surprise when Jeralt found love with her creation, and she had actually been a little interested in what would come out of their union; not because she suspected it would be her mother, no, she knew better than that.

No, her interest was held for two reasons. Firstly, because none of her creations had ever had children before, their interests not leaning that way for whatever reason, and after so long at the work of laboratories and experiments, Rhea could not help but admit to a sort of scientific curiosity, had developed an inquisitive streak.

But the other reason- the greater one- was the faintest, smallest hope inside her that maybe, just maybe, the child of one bearing Rhea's Crest and one with Sothis' Crest Stone in her chest might yet be a Nabatea. Her people were lost, her people were _dead_ , but if she could bring them back...

She had been unusually involved, in twelve's life at that point, disguising it as simply favoring Captain Jeralt, first and foremost of her Knights. Twelve, who had never known what to do with the Archbishop, who was flustered that the highest religious authority in Fodlan, the head of her very Church, should be so interested in the child in her belly. Twelve, the only one of Rhea's creations who had ever received the direct attention of her Creator for longer than a few moments after birth.

Rhea had moved them somewhere secret, in case the child came out with sea-green hair and pointed ears, on the off-chance that, perhaps, her people were not doomed to extinction, if a way _out_ of the impossible situation presented itself. She claimed that assassins had been targeting Jeralt, and that such precautions were necessary, though even then Jeralt had looked at her with wiser eyes and known something else was going on.

The day of birth had been one of excitement, but one kept secret.

But joy soon turned to horror. Rhea had made a mistake in making the mother. When she had pulled her creation cooling from the kiln, it had been crumbling, but in a subtle way, a way that would not be revealed until that creation attempted to have a child. What should have been a thing of life had instead been perverted into a cause of death...

Rhea had identified the flaw later, looking over her notes. A simple thing, one that had taken only twenty years to fix. Not any one big thing, just... little things. A few mistimed impulses of nerves and arteries. A womb a little too small, hips not quite ready for a child. A vein that was a little too close to the surface, a little more fragile than it should have been. All of her creations had these problems, and none had threatened their lives before. Such tiny mistakes.

But they had been big enough to kill. That night... Goddess, Rhea was so full of nightmares already, you'd think she'd have no more room. No more room... but that night still carved a place for itself in her screaming skull. That terrible night, gazing down at her creation bleeding out and crying as she held her daughter, who had never lived, begging Rhea to save her still-born child.

Her creation had not known it, but she was begging her Goddess to fix her mistakes, and...

Well, never let it be said that Rhea did not live up to her obligations, self-appointed or given to her by the cruel universe.

In desperation was the idea born. The Crest Stone. She could transfer it from mother to daughter, and its energies might yet bring the daughter to life. Her mother's powers had revolved around creation- around beginnings- starts and stops. Time. It might... it might work.

She'd lose the Crest Stone for seventy-five years or so, but what was that to her? She could... she could afford to cancel her experiments for the space of a human lifetime. It would give her time to... to be better at the work. To do better. Make sure something like this didn't happen again.

That was a fair trade, so she told the woman whom she had malformed in her making, this weeping woman, that she could save her daughter... but that the process would kill her.

The mother, doomed to die anyway, had told her yes, and so Rhea had taken them up in her arms, the mother dying, the child never-living, and with her warrior's arms carried them down, down, into the most secret places of Garreg Mach, down into the dark.

There, at Rhea's most secret of laboratories, where she had bent the blasphemous technology of Agartha to her hidden task, dark and lit only by the terrible flicker of scientific thunders, she had begun her great and awful work.

She had set the mother down, and taken her daughter from her hands, so that she could access the mother's chest. Blades, sharp, ready, cleaned swiftly in antiseptic formulas. Needles and thread and medicines of strange make, and machines that predated Fodlan, engines humming as they woke up.

A pause, scalpel over the mother's chest, as Rhea looked her creation in the eyes for the first and last time, and asked again if this was what she wanted, Rhea hesitant to kill her own creation, hesitant to be a Goddess who gave and took away life.

The mother, dying, nodding, her last words to Rhea being but two: “ Thank you.”

Rhea, working with tears of sorrow and regret in her eyes at those last words, the Creator who sought to make amends with her shattered creation, this brave thing she had made in her hands and made _wrong_ , that wanted only for her daughter to live.

Rhea, cutting, killing her creation with a quick strike, maker and now destroyer.

Rhea, down there in the dark between two corpses, the room lit only with the inconstant flicker of Agarthan lightning, cutting and cutting, desperate to fulfill her creation's last request.

Remove the never-living infant's unbeating heart, which would never quicken with a pulse. Push the small ribcage open, just a bit wider than usual, and into the chest cavity place the Crest Stone, still warm with her mother's blood. Tie veins and arteries to the stone, using magic to force them to link up, to drink deep of the slumbering power of that inhuman heart. Sew up the chest cavity, with just a little magic to heal the wound, and keep infection out. Agarthan thunder, run through the child, to jumpstart the Crest Stone, and rejuvenate the flesh.

A moment, terrible and horrible, in the dark, where Rhea feared it had not worked, where she prayed- to her mother, perhaps, but also to anyone who was listening, whatever forces in the universe might hear the dark and desperate prayers of false prophets.

But in the next moment, she realized that someone had been listening, after all, and that they had decided to be kind; for in the room where her mother drew her last breath, Byleth had drawn her first.

The child would live.

( And perhaps this is the thing that decides all the rest, perhaps the thing that mattered most had already happened twenty-one years prior. Perhaps what mattered was this: Rhea had put Sothis' Crest Stone in Byleth not out of service to her great secret plan, not in hopes of serving her selfish dream, but instead in an attempt to atone, and do right by the wounded work of her hands. Perhaps all the future was decided right there, because Rhea did what she did with no ulterior motives, with no sinister goal in mind, but only in hopes of doing what was right, of turning the choice of her hands towards good.)

Rhea woke up with a start at the knock on her door. A danger for someone as old as her, to lose herself in memory... how long...?

Too long, it was after classes. Goddess, she hadn't lost time like that in years... and there were tears on her face, in memory of her twelfth creation, who had suffered so much.

She took a moment, put her face back on, dabbed her eyes with a napkin that was swiftly hidden.

“ Enter,” she said.

And there she was, entering her room with her usual blank stare. Byleth. Unlucky thirteen- for she had been dead, still-born, and her mother had perished in the very act of her creation. Lucky thirteen, perhaps; for she now lived, wielded the Sword of the Creator, and she was... she was so much _closer_ to being what Rhea wanted, she might yet be her mother reborn...

“ Greetings, Archbishop,” Byleth said. Her arm was in a sling, broken by Miklan when the corruption of the Lance overtook him; normally Byleth would have been able to dodge the beast's blows, but the injuries she'd sustained saving young Duke Riegan had still been with her, and at the worst possible moment she'd stumbled. The beast's swipe had broken her arm and gashed her side; but Claude and his archers had covered for her, saving her and her squad of mercenaries from further harm.

Just seeing that broken arm, and the sling, made Rhea's heart ache, and she cursed Miklan. The fool. Just like far too many humans, he sought power greater than he could handle... a terribly human weakness. He got what he deserved.

( She did not consider that Miklan did what he did only because of the trauma of his life, born entirely from the very Crest system Rhea promoted. Humans have their flaws, but so do Nabatea.)

“ Greetings, Byleth,” Rhea said. “ And please, call me Archbishop. How is your arm?”

“ It hurts,” Byleth said bluntly, because she blundered into all of her conversations with a dead-eyed honesty that made her the most interesting conversational partner Rhea had ever had. “ But it'll recover.”

She held her left hand up, and the light of faith glowed. Not a real spell, just a warm glow to dismiss pain.

Rhea focused on that, watched it like a hawk, as Byleth's nimble fingers danced and restored her arm. The light... some of her experiments had shown potential for healing magic, but none like Byleth, whose spells were so _powerful_. Her light seared her enemies and restored flesh, even her simplest spells were just _bigger_ than they should have been.

In some ways, it annoyed Rhea. She could not claim Byleth was one of her creations; Byleth was the daughter of one of Rhea's creation, and Rhea had saved her life by shoving the Crest Stone inside her... but Byleth had grown entirely without Rhea's influence, had known nothing of her Church at all until wandering in from the forest one day. No, Byleth was not the making of Rhea's hands, though Rhea had saved her life; started it, in fact.

Perhaps the flaw had been with Rhea all along, as Rhea had always, in secret, suspected it did. Perhaps the problem was the Archbishop, and always had been...

Byleth caught her staring, Rhea lost in her musings for a moment, and the mercenary awkwardly coughed. “ Apologies,” she said in her monotone, though her facial expression didn't change... save for the smallest tightening of her eyes. “ Is that- rude? Should I not?”

That tightness around her eyes was so small, but seeing it put that same burden on Rhea's heart, she felt her chest tighten too. It was Byleth's deepest fear and shame, she was so... _clumsy_ with emotions and etiquette, this masterful swordswoman could not navigate even a simple conversation without fear of disaster. Byleth was always so worried about committing a faux paus...

Rhea spoke gently to her. “ No, it's alright. You've made no mistake, I was just curious. I'm an Archbishop, I'm always interested in watching faith magic.”

Byleth did not smile, but the tightness around her eyes eased, and it released Rhea's heart too.

“ Good. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate.”

“ I would argue that a healer always has a right to heal themselves,” Rhea said. “ But come, sit down, I've kept you standing.”

Byleth sat, then looked at the teapot. “ I... am not sure how to pour with one hand,” Byleth admitted. “ Especially my off hand.”

“ I'll pour,” the Archbishop said, then smirked. Byleth would be one of the few people to ever be served tea by the highest authority in all of Fodlan; but given what Byleth might be, what Rhea hoped her to become, it was only appropriate.

( Which made her feelings even _more_ inappropriate... but put that away, Rhea, put it away, where all the horror of the last millennia go, down into the depths.)

Byleth sat, hardly moving, as Rhea poured tea, and the dragon wondered if her general stillness was some remnant of her death, if some spectre of her unliving self was still on her. Or if it was just Byleth being Byleth...

When it was done, Byelth carefully took up the cup in her bad hand and took a small sip. “ Ah, thank you,” Byleth said. “ My favorite blend... though you can use other blends if you wish, Rhea. I've noticed you always have this blend for me, and while I appreciate it, I don't want you to force yourself to accommodate me every time.”

“ Oh, it's fine,” Rhea said, taking a sip herself. “ I like this blend, too.”

Not totally a lie; the blend was alright to Rhea, if a bit sweet. She liked bitter teas herself, the sting on her palate was refreshing.

“ I'd still like to try your flavor,” Byleth said, and only very, _very_ long experience maintaining composure prevented Rhea from spitting a mouthful of tea all over the professor.

“ I... excuse me?” Rhea said, voice slightly choked. Byleth blinked, her version of being taken aback, and then coughed slightly.

“ I mean, I would like to try the teas you favor,” Byleth said. “ Apologies, I wasn't being clear.”

Rhea nodded, and calmed her racing heart. She knew Byleth hadn't meant anything by it; the professor had no talent for metaphor or simile, spoke blunt and plainly, and had never once meant an innuendo in her life.

But Goddess, _still_.

“ Perhaps next time,” Rhea said. “ With your wounded arm, I cannot help but pamper you a little bit.”

Byleth nodded- then her eyes grew tight again. “ Rhea... may I ask a question?”

_Anything._

“ Of course,” Rhea said.

“ What happened to Miklan... that was because of his weapon... will the same thing happen to me?” Byleth asked.

Ah. Byleth's wounds meant that Rhea had not been able to debrief her afterwards as was proper; she'd spoken with the Golden Deer's leader, and sworn them to silence, but Byleth had been in the infirmary.

“ No,” Rhea said. “ What happened to Miklan was his punishment for presuming to wield a Relic without having a Crest. You have a Crest that resonates with the Sword of the Creator; you are protected from divine punishment, because you were chosen to receive the weapon by the Goddess Herself. Given how often you have used the blade, the simple truth is that you would have changed already if you were going to.”

Byleth nodded at the only somewhat false explanation. Rhea actually had no idea why the mutation process occurred; it _did_ , obviously, but she honestly couldn't explain why. It wasn't like she could test a hypothesis without having subjects to mutate, and Rhea would not throw away human lives to satisfy her curiosity.

She was just glad it _did_ happen; it felt like... deserved punishment, to those who would wield her family's bones. She could not punish the Elites the way they deserved, they were too powerful... but at least _something_ was hurting those who abused her people's slaughter for their own gain.

Byleth took another sip, her eyes relaxed, and then she changed the subject completely. Rhea had gotten used to the sudden jumps, and almost looked forward to them; you never knew where the mercenary would take a conversation once she took the lead. Usually she was relatively submissive, let others talk, but as she'd grown more comfortable with Rhea she'd started rambling about her own favored subjects.

“ Tea is a strange thing,” Byleth said. “ Lorenz had to take me aside to tell me not to just use my own favorite blend all the time, that I had to take into consideration the other person's tastes. Just something I didn't learn growing up, I guess. I _was_ rather proud of figuring out on my own that I had to make sure I had a variety of little snacks, though, not just those soft cookies I favor.”

Byleth smirked a little at that, and Rhea smiled, too. “ Tea has many rules and rituals.”

“ Indeed,” Byleth said. “ And there's so many different kinds that it boggles my mind. I made the mistake of telling Lorenz that I hadn't tried many types of tea. He told Ferdinand, and the two of them took it upon themselves to... assist me. So now my cabinet has a bewildering variety of teas in it, and they're trying to teach me how to make... what'd he call it... cold-brew tea?”

“ Sun tea is better,” Rhea opined as she took a sip. Perhaps it was her nature as a dragon of heaven, but she'd always liked sun-warmed tea.

“ What the hell is that?” Byleth said. “ You can brew it with the sun, too?”

Byleth chuckled gently, and Rhea chuckled too. Byleth had learned to do that, she'd told Rhea, so that others knew it was okay to laugh; Byleth was a little sensitive to her own strangeness, didn't like being laughed at, but she also didn't like it when others didn't realize she was telling a joke or trying to be funny.

Apparently Duke Riegan had suggested to her to laugh first, when she meant to be funny. A useful and quick-witted man, he was... though Rhea wasn't sure she trusted him. You couldn't trust Leceister folk, too chaotic, too resistant to central control... and he looked Almyran...

Still, he'd saved Byleth's life from Miklan, so Rhea put him out of mind as Byleth continued.

“ My knowledge of tea is limited to putting dry things in hot water and waiting,” Byleth confided. “ Now, when it comes to liquor, I'm quite knowledgeable. Tried to develop a mobile brewery over the last five years, trying to cut down on my father's bar tabs...”

“ A mobile brewery?” Rhea said, perking up an eyebrow. “ Given Jeralt's prodigious appetite for liquor... not a bad plan. I remember him nearly clearing out our stocks over long winters.”

Byleth nodded. “ I never want to fight another bartender. So many unpaid tabs... but at any rate, the experiments never worked. Mounting them on wagons tended to shake the equipment apart, and I tried to have one that a pegasus could haul around but that proved cost-inefficient...”

Byleth kept going, talking of her travails and adventures in attempted micro-brewing, and Rhea just watched her, watched the little tics and movements of her face that meant so much. What a strange and fascinating woman Byleth was. This former mercenary, now a professor, talking with Rhea of alcohol brewing... Byleth was a fascinating quandary. Rhea never knew what she'd talk about, or what she knew and didn't know... she'd once launched into a discussion of the economic advantages of Leceister's government, then grown flustered when Rhea asked her which authors she'd read on the subject.

Turned out she hadn't read any of them; she'd just thought about it herself and arrived at her own conclusions.

A phrase Cethleann had said recently occurred to her, something about flowers that could grow anywhere being truly beautiful. Byleth... Byleth was like that, Rhea thought, as she sipped her too-sweet tea, and watched the sweeter woman before her, who had segued from brewing to a discussion of acquiring copper piping. Byleth, who could talk and teach of a billion subjects. Byleth, who had went from a wandering mercenary to a professor at Garreg Mach, despite knowing literally nothing about the Church... and that was weird enough on its own merits, a Fodlanese who knew nothing of Seiros?

Yes, Byleth was... like a mountain wildflower, Rhea decided. She could grow well in a greenhouse under a gardener's careful caress, but she didn't _need_ it, could grow in the stoniest and most inhospitable of places... grow, and thrive.

Byelth wound down as Rhea returned to the conversation, looking at this woman whom her mind compared to flowers, Rhea somehow unaware of just _why_ she did so.

“ But having failed at creating alcohol, I suppose I shall have to stick to tea,” Byleth said. “ Even if I must learn this new... cold-brew... method.”

“ It's not that new,” Rhea said with amusement, as Byleth chuckled again. “ But I'm sure Duke Gloucester's son is equal to the task of teaching you just about anything tea-related.”

“ When it comes to tea, Lorenz has only one equal in Ferdinand, and he knows no superiors,” Byleth agreed. “ A shame he is not so capable with women; Ferdinand, at least, restricts himself to simply being a bit awkward around those he likes, men or women. Lorenz was a problem for a while.”

“ Indeed,” Rhea said, remembering complaints she'd received from literally every female noble student. She'd routed those to Byleth, and the letters had stopped coming when Byleth took Lorenz aside to her office and read every single complaint to him in a row for two hours. Humiliated, he'd finally stopped, and Byleth was the favorite professor among female students for two weeks running afterwards; she'd even gotten flowers from a few.

“ I think, though,” Byleth said, musing, “ that he'll get better. It's strange. Teaching him... I feel like there might be a great man inside Lorenz, if I can pummel the boy out of him. Like... there's just... something there, someone _better_ , who I can help him become. I feel that with so many of them, there's so much potential there... I like bringing it out. It's nice.”

“ It is,” Rhea agreed, and it was one of the few truths she had spoken in a long time. Teaching humans was one of her greatest joys; it made her feel like she was living up to Sothis' legacy, giving humans the guidance they needed. It made her feel like she wasn't such a failure, at her great purpose.

Byleth frowned, just a little, and that made Rhea's heart ache, like her tightened eyes; on reflex, helpless to stop herself, Rhea reached out, and Byleth, surprised, took her hand.

( Rhea, helpless, because she has been alone, so long, so alone for so long; Byleth is the first person she has opened up to in a millennia, even Seteth is not so close to her heart, kept away so her experiments might be hidden... but Byleth is now becoming something to Rhea, something she has not had in ages, a thing of dandelions and roses.)

“ What worries you?” Rhea asked. “ Tell me, that I might ease your burden.”

“ I... think I might like to stay,” Byleth said. “ When the year is up. I know my assignment here was a matter of favoring my father and a bit of serendipity- I happened to be in the room when you needed a teacher- but... I rather like it. When the year's up... can I stay, if I choose?”

_Stay, stay forever._ Rhea's throat closed up for a second, and then she banished the thought, and all her feelings.

“ Of course,” Rhea said. “ You are welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“ Thank you,” Byleth said, and squeezed Rhea's hand softly, favoring the Archbishop with a little smile.

( Much does Rhea share with Edelgard, but this she shares with Claude; it is a smile that undoes her. The woman Nemesis could not kill with the Sword of the Creator in his hands is undone utterly by a little pressure on her hand and the smallest smile in all of Fodlan.)

Rhea smiled back at her, wide and grand, and they finished their tea.

( This particular dragon is being slain, not by a sword, but by a thing Rhea knows of only as a word, a thing of roses and dandelions, of serenades and whistles. She wasn't wrong; Byleth was a mountain wildflower indeed... and in the stony and frozen places of Rhea's heart, broken in so many places, a seed began to grow.)


	4. Similarity, Kriegspiel

**Similarity, Kriegspiel**

She woke up after a long night of nightmares, blunted with chemical aids. A retainer, loyal for years, helped her get ready for the day, having already arranged her schedule and prepared what she needed. She put a mask of sanity on top of things that would destroy a lesser person- on pain deep as the ocean, on grief wide as the sky, on rage hot as the sun. In service to a great plan, her will and her ambition drove her past her suffering, and gave her strength- but she did not see how that very strength rendered her incapable of growth or change, and made a monster out of her.

Her name was Edelgard, and she now had to speak with Bernie, and inform her faithful one of her goals.

Out the door of her room she went, passing Claude and Hilda in the hall- he gave her a smile and a nod, and she returned the latter, even as she was pleased by the first. Hilda and Hubert exchanged the small nods of those who recognized and respected their similarities; he had been impressed by her efforts to serve Claude in the wake of his assassination attempt, approving heartily of her methods, and as she grew into her role as retainer, she had come to admire Hubert for his own expertise at the job.

But Edelgard continued without conversation. Today was a day for business; she had a tight time limit, to meet with Bernie, and explain what was going on. Down the stairs she went, and then out into the bright sunshine, her steps picking up pace as they always did when she stood under the sun.

A fine, ordinary day. The only people present were Dimitri and Dedue, talking quietly- though not so quietly that Edelgard did not overhear him, having gotten used to eavesdropping from a young age.

Dimitri was concerned over Sylvain's reaction to his brother's death; his brother having been a waste, in Edelgard's opinion. A man so skilled as to do what he'd done _without_ any support from his family should have led the Gautier family to greatness, Crest or no Crest...

But that was just another reason she must do what she does. It was proof she was not wrong, that there was _injustice_ being done here, injustice that must be fought.

( Her truth nods its head- this much is true, that what happened to Miklan was an injustice- but it is her rage that lingers over the sentiment, running its tongue up and down that delicious thought, licking its lips. Dragons she seeks to kill, but the greatest dragon in Fodlan is inside Edelgard, and the fire of its breath will consume the continent in war, in time to come.)

Still, thinking of Miklan makes her think of Hubert's report to her, of what his source says the Golden Deer were like in their battle with him... a tale that... concerns her. She is beginning to fear she has misjudged the last House, that Claude and Lysithea are not the only competent members of the Golden Deer, that all their victories cannot be attributed to the terror that is the Ashen Demon.

According to Hubert's source, who was present, when Miklan transformed, the Deer took him down- but not at Claude's command, nor with Byleth's help. The injuries Byleth sustained in stopping Hubert- injuries Hubert himself dryly noted were mostly self-inflicted, he hadn't had much chance to hurt her given how the mercenary had mauled him like a rabid dog- interfered at the worst possible moment, causing her to pause mid-step. She was struck by one of the transformed Miklan's swipes, and the impact broke her arm; Claude had given cover fire and pulled her out of danger himself.

( _Always rushing in to save the women in his life_ , Edelgard thought with fond amusement, having been one of those women herself.)

Claude, distracted, had not commanded the Herd... but still had the third House run roughshod over the monster before them. Ignatz's archers had filled its eyes with arrows to blind it, letting Raphael and his battallion of Alliance brawlers charge from behind and hamstring the beast. It had flailed and turned its massive head towards them, ready to unleash its deadly breath, but a perfectly-timed charge from Hilda and her bodyguard of Goneril heavy infantry knocked its jaw to the side, sparing them- the blast had torn a hole in the Tower of Black Winds, but it had missed the Deer.

After that, Lysithea and her mages had used magic to tear the front legs off the thing, and with its back legs already ruined, the beast fell, easy prey for a final, deadly charge from Ferdinand, Leonie, and Lorenz, cavalry and heavy infantry tearing into its side. Those wounds were fatal, the thing bleeding out, though actual credit for the kill went to Mercedes, of all people; the gentle woman had seen it preparing one last breath, and had fired an arrow with split-second timing down its throat, just as it was getting ready to release.

The beast had choked with fatal mistiming; as it paused, the force of its own prepared blast had torn the thing's skull off, killing it at last, the body resolving into Miklan and the Lance of Ruin.

The Deer had taken the beast out with a series of complicated, timed assaults, and done it so well that no one had died- in fact, other than Byleth, no one had even been _wounded_. Such a coordinated attack with no losses would be impressive for an Imperial brigade, much less the mish-mosh that was the Golden Deer.

But what was truly worrying was that this was not some preplanned assault; according to their eyewitness, the Deer had been yelling back and forth about what to do, had effectively come up with this plan on the fly while the Black Beast busily attempted to kill them. Discipline had still held; they talked, but when Hilda gave an order, they followed it, precise as clockwork. Hilda was a solid second in command, apparently- wise enough to let people plan, but smart enough to know when action was required. Worthy of Claude, perhaps...

Maybe all of them were worthy of that great man, and that thought bothered her- not because she did not think Claude deserved such fine troops, but because it meant that she'd... she'd made a mistake.

She had assumed them useless, but their actions spoke with a great, booming voice over all Edelgard's words. It would take iron discipline, great creativity, and greater skill all three to both conceive and enact such a plan in the middle of desperate combat... and given that the Deer had done it, and flawlessly to boot, well, there was only one reasonable conclusion to come to... they were greater than she suspected.

For the House Edelgard presumed to be least, they had certainly shown themselves greater than most... and mistakes were so expensive for Edelgard to make, with her life and, more importantly, her ambition already so fraught in the balance.

Those thoughts faded as they reached Bernie's room, where, to their surprise, they found Dorothea and Petra, both sitting on the steps outside the shy girl's room.

“ Hello, Edie!” Dorothea said with a wide smile, bright and heady as moonshine. “ We were hoping to talk with you!”

“ Now is not the best time,” Edelgard said to the singer- but it is Petra who responds.

“ Hubert, is it safe to be speaking freely?” she asked the dark mage, who blinked, nonplussed, at the Brigid princess. Edelgard put it together, her mind quickly figuring out just _why_ Petra would ask such a question.

“ I... you told her,” Edelgard said flatly to Dorothea, not even mad about it. Honestly, she should have expected this, and she felt more foolish at not realizing it beforehand than she felt irritated at Dorothea for revealing her greatest secret.

“ She did not need to be telling me anything,” Petra said defensively before Dorothea could reply, her hand finding Dorothea's and squeezing it tight. “ Hubert, are we to be safe or not?”

Edelgard nodded to him to obey the foreign princess' command, and Hubert went through the spells that gave a measure of privacy, that checked for spies and scrying and all manner of other dangers, and confused the hearing of others. Not much of a shield... but on such thin threads did Edelgard's revolution hang.

“ It's safe,” he said a moment later. Petra nodded.

“ Sweet Dorothea did not be needing to tell me anything,” Petra said swiftly, her accent and syntax growing thicker as she spoke faster. “ You are to be calling yourself Flame Emperor, Edelgard. Anyone could be figuring it out; why in world did you call yourself that? Hubert, surely you came up with a better name, you are being too good of a retainer to have let this pass without protest.”

Hubert coughed, surprised, as Edelgard drew back slightly in the face of Petra's words. “ I... did advise against it,” Hubert admitted.

Petra sighed. “ Edelgard- Edie- you are clearly being in need of help. I would assist you.”

Hubert leaned towards Edelgard. “ Lady Edelgard, this is a grave issue of security...” he whispered to her.

“ He is telling you that this is issue of insecurity, right?” Petra asked, pausing a moment to collect her thoughts; she was going so fast that her mouth and brain weren't quite keeping up with the foreign tongue. “ Being honest, Edelgard, how can it possibly be? My country is being on the line for this, Edie. All Adrestia will be suffering if the truth of your doings comes out, and where Adrestia goes, Brigid is bound to be following. And I cannot free my people with this knowledge.”

She turned her head to Hubert. “ Who am I to be telling this great secret to? Rhea, I presume, is your worry?”

“ I, err, yes,” Hubert said, thrown off by the island princess, who did not relent, who simply kept going.

“ Hubert, be thinking. If I am to speak with Rhea, two things will be happening in quickness of succession,” Petra said. “ Edelgard will be getting killed, and then... then Brigid will be turning into the next Tragedy like Duscur, when Adrestia realizes who is to be responsible for her death. The Church will not help a foreigner... it will not be saving my country from yours.”

( Dorothea squeezed her love's hand tight. Brigid, a country she had never seen, but that she hoped to be Consort of; even never having visited it, still the thought of the island nation being destroyed sent lances into her heart. It was a land she knew of only as a tale on Petra's lips, but still she dreamed of long days of peace on warm shores, with Petra in her arms, the dour and cynical songstress brightened at last in lands lush with light.)

“ I... true,” Hubert had to admit, the dark mage sent stumbling back in the face of this sun-born warrior. “ The Church would almost certainly not intervene in such a matter. It didn't intervene in Duscur, after all.”

Petra nodded. “ This information does me no good, nor does it help Brigid. Or do you see some way it does, Edie?”

Edelgard, having not said a word in this whole exchange, just looked at Petra, and wondered how she had missed this... _strength_ , so much like her own, in the Brigid princess. She had not really thought much of her, in the sense of not thinking of her often, either good or bad; but now...

Now, Edelgard realized she was talking to an _equal_ , someone like her. An inheritor of greater traditions, a fulcrum upon which an entire nation turned- and more similarities besides, as she looked down at her, Petra still sitting on the steps and thus lower in height than even short Edelgard. Edelgard had been looked down upon, too; and Petra was a prisoner, as much as Edelgard had ever been, a prisoner and reluctant ally. Both princesses, and both prisoners... how must Petra truly see her, with all her people's lives in Edelgard's hands?

( Some part of Edelgard remembered Faerghus, and Arundel's cruel hands, and her heart seized up in her chest- just for a moment.)

Edie had wanted many things in her captivity, respect and fair treatement and for her siblings to live; she wondered what Petra wanted, and thought of how frustrating this must be, to know this great secret, and to be unable to use it for anything at all.

Edelgard was many things, but she would not be _cruel_.

So in recognition of their similarities, and in hopes of being a better warden than the Slithering Ones, Edelgard _bowed_ to Petra, long and low, royalty to royalty.

“ I cannot imagine how frustrating this is for you,” she said as she straightened up, and saw Petra's eyes grow a little warmer, from the respect she had been paid. “ But you have my word I did not do this to harm Brigid, and that I will do whatever I can to ease the burden on your people.”

Petra nodded, took a breath, and continued in slower vein.

“ I do not know why you are doing this, Edie, but... I will trust you. You do not strike me as... frivolous, is the word, I think. Or silly, perhaps, is what I am looking for...”

“ Foolish,” Dorothea said. “ That's the word you're looking for.”

“ Thank you, darling,” Petra said, favoring her lover with a small smile before continuing. “ You are not foolish, Edie. You are not petty nor full of cruelties, though you are willing to be being both, if you must- which I understand, I am willing to be both if I must, too. I am certain you are having a reason to your actions, and I would know it, so I might help- you must be succeeding, Edelgard, else Brigid suffers.”

“ There are other groups than just Rhea,” Hubert interjected, though his tone was more curious than questioning; he was... testing Petra, Edelgard thought. “ She might run to them, Lady Edelgard...”

“ Of the other groups I might talk to, the risk remains the same,” Petra answered, but her tone was different- like a student answering a teacher. She'd recognized the test for what it was. “ Who am I to be running to? Faerghus will heed the Church, and will not save Brigid. Leceister, perhaps, in return for new trading partners and favorable deals... but Leceister is not being united enough to trust with something so delicate. Not yet. Maybe not ever, given their history. And should my involvement be discovered in any of these schemes, Brigid will be dying.”

She turned to Edelgard and shrugged. “ The most I can be doing is getting you killed, Edie, and that does not serve any purpose for my people. I actually rather like you, to the extent that will ever be important between us.”

Hubert nodded his approval, and Edelgard almost smirked at this confident woman, who sat with her gaze calm and steady, knowing she'd passed the test with flying colors. Hubert was usually as unconquerable as midnight... yet here she was, this island princess, and the sun of her personality had won the dark mage over.

Petra... might be a good addition to her forces. And it hurt a little, inside, for Edelgard to think about Petra knowing something as big as this, and having it do no good, there was something _familiar_ about such a situation to her.

( Of course there was. She had known Arundel was not Arundel, he was a monster in his skin, but no one would ever believe her... just like she now knows the true history of Fodlan, and knows none would believe her.)

“ I sympathize with how incredibly frustrating this is for you,” Edelgard said, prompting Petra to perk up one eyebrow. “ To know such a major truth... and find it does not help you. I have been in similar situations myself... am in one now, in fact. I will explain everything, you have my word.”

“ Good. Brigid is strapped to Adrestia, whether we be liking it or not, and where Adrestia goes, Brigid is to be following. I would be keeping that from being off a cliff. You have my services, Edelgard, howsoever you would use them.”

Of course. In her position, Edelgard would have offered no less, _done_ no less.

Edelgard nodded to her, Princess to Princess, the same way she'd shaken Dorothea's hand- one woman of strength to another.

“ Then I will make use of them. First, however, we must find Bernadetta. We will speak more in private.”

“ She's not inside,” Dorothea said. “ We already tried that.”

“ It's not like her to be out and about,” Hubert murmured. Edelgard nodded.

“ Go look for her. We'll return here in ten minutes. We'll search the west, you search the east.”

Petra and Dorothea nodded before the two set off towards the greenhouse, hand in hand, at the usual steady pace of students with nothing to do- nothing noticeable, nothing out of the ordinary. Edelgard approved. Perhaps an actress and a noblewoman were not bad choices for a job requiring deceit...

“ My Lady,” Hubert whispered quietly, as the duo left, “ While I think Petra would be a valuable asset, I must admit to some concern... though I cannot truly argue with her words. Perhaps it's just sheer paranoia, but I do not like adding more to our ranks than is needed.”

“ Petra and Dorothea will be useful,” Edelgard replied... then, in a fit of impish pique, smirked at her best friend. “ Or do you seek to achieve this revolution on our two backs alone?”

“ Not at all,” Hubert said breezily. “ I intend to make Bernadetta shoulder some of the work, too.”

She chuckled, then set off, searching in the opposite direction from the others, starting with the classrooms. There, they found only the members of the Herd, though it was literally all of them gathered into their classroom and talking quietly in low tones. That was a bit unusual; more unusual was that Hilda had actually shut the door when they peered inside, apologetically telling the Eagle duo that “it's House business, sorry!”

Strange... but probably talking about patrol routes, so Edelgard let it pass. She couldn't be everywhere at once, frustrating as that was for a woman whose need for control was all-encompassing; best to focus on the task at hand.

( But some part of her wondered about the way they'd looked, faces serious- a strange look for the House of Laughter- with the students all arranged in a circle around their professor, who was busily writing... something.)

_At least if the Deer are all in one place for the moment, we won't run into any surprise patrols_ , Edelgard thought. That the Deer had decided to police the monastery was a bit of an insult to the Knights of Seiros... but not only had they already failed to prevent an assassination, Rhea had approved their measures, since she seemed willing to give Byleth her left eye if necessary. Edelgard absolutely did not _trust_ that, but she didn't know _why_ Rhea did what she did... frustrating. Claude trusted Byleth, but then again, he didn't know what Edelgard did, what her ancestor had left behind...

They moved on as she pondered, circling around the top of the classrooms. There was only one person in the area, Ingrid, reading something on a nearby bench- judging from the cover, one of her books of chivalry. Edelgard briefly wondered about that... wondered why Rhea had promoted the culture of chivalry in Faerghus at all.... and that led to other questions. Why had she set up Leceister as she had, that strange land of nobles without royalty, merchants without limit. Why? Fodlan was a riddle, and its architect wore human flesh over her draconic self...

It was beyond even Edelgard's formidable ability to parse out every decision Rhea had made over the centuries... but, thankfully, she didn't _have_ to. She'd simply undo all of it, rewind the clock back to when Adrestia covered the continent; she would burn the chivalric books of Faerghus and put the chaos of Leceister to order. Nothing of the two nations could be left to distract Fodlan from the truth, that the Empire was all there was ever _supposed_ to be, that but for the interference of inhuman monsters, Adrestia would stretch from the Jaws to the Throat.

She would trample those false flags beneath her feet, and put human history back on the _right_ track.

( Her rage salivated, at the thoughts of how much _killing_ it would take to get there. One did not stand on the flags of free nations cheaply; they had to be bought with human lives, and oh, the _slaughter_ , her anger danced a merry devil's jig at the thought.)

They looped around, Edelgard's short legs pumping away to keep up with Hubert's long stride; he used to offer to slow down for her, but no. Edelgard's dreams demanded more of her; she would speed up, rather than let others slow down.

Edelgard wondered where Bernie could be. Maybe she was using the new sauna... They moved up the steps to check out the building, which Hilda had fallen in love with the second it opened, loving the loose feeling in her muscles the place gave her. Claude had joked with Edelgard that one day he'd open it to find that she'd melted into mush, laughing, his face in that kind of happy relaxed state it always was when he spoke of the pink-haired girl of Goneril, whom he trusted so very much, a friend closer than blood.

At the sauna they found no Eagle, but just a trio of Lions. Sylvain, Ashe, and Felix sat inside, the steam room heated to a temperature even a Leceister spice merchant would have found uncomfortable; apparently the Faerghi were engaging in some context of macho masochism. Sylvain and Felix were yelling encouragement and insults at each other as they both slowly cooked, the duo ignoring both the Eagles and Ashe, who appeared to have either passed out or _died_ in the corner at some point.

( Hubert and Edelgard had shared a joint look before they left, one that said plainly, _I'm glad I'm not a Faerghi._ Weird people. When she wiped the culture out, she'd be doing Fodlan a favor.)

She paused as they descended the steps, looking at the training ground.

“ Could she?” she asked Hubert, who shrugged.

“ No reason not to look,” he said, and they entered the arena.

To their surprise, in this most unexpected place did they find their archer, in the middle of stomach crunches. She was working out under Jeritza's tutelage, dripping with sweat, face screwed up in a show of how much pain she was in- but not a word of complaint arose from her. This wasn't bow work, but stamina work, getting her muscles ready to do whatever war demanded of them.

Jeritza- her Death Knight, her faithful monster- noticed her, and gave her a slight nod of the head, not acknowledging their deeper relationship in the open.

“ Greetings, Lady Edelgard,” Jeritza said, drawing Bernie's attention as well.

“ Oh, uh, hey guys!” Bernie said, relaxing from a crouched pose meant to tense up the thighs. “ What's up?”

“ We were looking for you,” Hubert said. “ You weren't in your room, so we were a bit worried.”

“ Oh, uh, sorry!” Bernie squeaked. With her hair plastered to her skull from sweat, she looked even more like a mouse than usual. “ Sorry, sorry!”

“ It's alright, Bernie,” Edelgard said as she reached her, heading off a full-blown panic attack from the purple-haired girl. “ You didn't know we were going to be looking for you. There's no shame.”

Bernie nodded at that, shuddering as some of her tension bled from her. “ S-sorry, I... I was worried I'd missed something.”

“ No, this meeting was spur of the moment,” Hubert said. “ Though I must admit, I did not expect to find you here, of all places.”

Bernie shrugged. “ I w-was training. Y-you need me at my best, right, Edie?”

_Magnificent_ , Edelgard thought, and in lieu of answer put a hand on Bernie's shoulder, squeezing it fondly. Even Hubert smiled at that, a little sideways smile with warm respect in his dark eyes, Jertiza noticing it and filing it away; he'd have to train this one _very_ well, if she was so high in Edelgard's favor.

“ I do,” Edelgard said, to this most loyal soldier, who knew nothing of Edelgard's dreams, and still risked her life to help achieve them, still trained so that she might be better at the task ahead. “ And I thank you for your attentiveness and discipline, Bernie. But right now, we must talk; we'll set up a schedule, so surprises like today don't happen to you anymore. It is not your fault if your Emperor cannot forewarn you of a meeting. Go shower; then meet us in front of your room.”

Bernie showered fast, apparently; Edelgard and Hubert had been back in front of her room only a few moments before the girl came running up, freshly clean. Dorothea and Petra joined them, and Bernie glanced at them before giving Hubert a quick, questioning look; Hubert favored her with another smile before speaking.

“ They are part of this,” Hubert said, then sighed. “ Though their loyalty is not so proven as yours.”

Dorothea smiled at that. “ Now _that's_ a story I want to hear- but I suppose we should wait.”

“ Indeed,” Edelgard said. “ Follow us.”

They left to a secluded space, a bit crowded- and Edelgard worried they were being followed- but no, Hubert confirmed they were alone, as did Petra a moment later, to Edelgard's surprise... but a huntress would be the person to know, the princess supposed. With the Deer all in one place, there was no danger of being caught, not for a few moments, at least.

“ Take these,” Hubert said, passing around small bags, nondescript things that had cost Edelgard more than the rest of her equipment put together. They had extras, at least, so Dorothea and Petra were not bereft, despite this meeting having originally been intended only for Bernadetta. “ At midnight tonight, take a simple pinch of the dust- just a few granules- and place them under your tongue. You can also break them to activate them, but we are seeking to reuse these particular granules. The taste is unpleasant; do not spit them out when you reach your destination.”

“ Reach our destination?” Dorothea said, quirking an eyebrow. Petra nodded her head.

“ Warpstone dust. This will... I am lacking words. Edelgard, if you would be so kindness- kind?- please explain,” Petra said, looking to Edelgard.

“ These crystals will teleport you to a predetermined destination,” Edelgard said.

“ Yes,” Hubert said. “ Somewhere safe to talk. Do get some rest today- we will have much to discuss, later.”

“ Disperse and go about your day as normal,” Edelgard said. “ But safeguard those bags- warpstone dust is more expensive than full suits of armor, and I would not have you waste my investments.”

Dorothea and Petra nodded, strolling off arm in arm, looking as formal as ever. Edelgard watched her go with her two loyalists.

“ Should we trust them?” Bernadetta asked, after a moment. Hubert smirked.

“ A wise question. You've adapted quite quickly to this cloak-and-dagger lifestyle,” he mused. “ Who knew the shy girl had a hidden talent for skullduggery?”

Bernadetta shrugged, though she looked at Edelgard a little nervously. “ I mean, I've always been good at keeping quiet and not being noticed, and I hate talking to people... a-and isn't that all this is? Stay quiet, don't get caught, and don't tell anyone?”

Hubert snorted in amusement, surprising everyone present, even himself.

“ Well summarized.”

“ I trust them,” Edelgard said, watching them leave, and seeing herself in Petra, seeing a younger girl whose hair still had color, whose life was not truly in her own hands.

Now that the Adrestian princess had another life in her hands, she would be wiser, and kinder.

She wasn't a monster- she wasn't _Thales_.

( She, at least, recognized that there _were_ lines, instead of taking horrible glee in the suffering of others. Be all Edelgard's many, many sins remembered, she was not a _sadist_. Angry and furious, yes, and she relished the thought of killing her enemies... but she did not plan to torture her enemies, only to kill them. Edelgard's anger was not an abomination in all its ways.)

“ Get some rest,” Edelgard ordered her archer. “ We'll talk tonight.”

She nodded. “ Uhh, I'm going to be training the rest of the day- s-should, err, do you want me to give you my schedule? So you can find me if you need me? Bernie keeps a pretty regular schedule, uhh, when I can get out the door, at least...”

“ That's a good idea,” Hubert said. “ In fact... Lady Edelgard, we should have Dorothea and Petra both give us their schedules as well. It should be simple to arrange for it to be done in broad daylight; we'll just claim that you, as House Leader, wanted to coordinate everyone's schedules. We'll have to get Linhardt and Caspar's schedules as well, but who knows; perhaps that will work out.”

“ Are we going to bring them in, too?” Bernie asked. “ More people seems dangerous... and, umm, Caspar's really nice, but he doesn't strike me as the type to be quiet... ever...”

“ Your natural instincts for stealth once again serve you well,” Hubert said, Bernie giving him a quickly fading grin at the praise. “ Caspar has all the delicate subtlety of a lion pride in heat, and is as quiet as a thunderstorm in a glass hallway. We will almost certainly _not_ bring him into the fold. Linhardt is... less of a security risk, but I am already uncomfortable with Dorothea and Petra knowing. Lady Edelgard, I ask that we leave the Bergliez and Hevring _out_ of our real business.”

“ I don't know,” Edelgard said. “ Caspar is straightforward, but he's not _foolish_. I think he could keep his mouth shut if the need was great enough, though it'd probably rankle him. And Linhardt... he is most intelligent, when he can be bothered to put the work in. He might prove valuable when we begin to untangle the Agarthan's technology...”

“ What's an Agarthan?” Bernadetta asked.

“ We will speak of that tonight,” Hubert said. “ Lady Edelgard, you speak the truth, but it will be easy enough to recruit him to our side _after_ our business here is done. Linhardt and Caspar can be dragged along later by patriotism; they will serve the throne, and it is less dangerous. Besides, a few months one way or another won't matter in terms of research... he will have years, if this works.”

Edelgard sighed. “ A truth- and it _is_ safer to limit it to just those who have proven trustworthy... and two others, though I think Petra and Dorothea will be faithful. Do keep watch on them, Hubert- but be extraordinarily careful. Petra, at least, has dealt with these matters often, and she will be on the lookout.”

Hubert nodded. “ Of course, Lady Edelgard.”

There was silence a moment, then Bernie said, “ Well, uhh... I'll see ya?”

“ Yes,” Edelgard replied... and seeing her uncertainty, gave her shoulder another squeeze, which brought a smile to the timid girl.

( In Edelgard's mind, she remembered that night- remembered her stunned disbelief and her equally stunned _joy_ , because that night was when Edelgard, who has only ever been saved by Claude before, was rescued again; rescued by a purple-haired, terrified girl who, in that moment, was the bravest person the princess had ever met, whose soul blazed brighter than the fire she had set, that had taken all night to put out, and eaten the cafeteria alive in the meantime.)

Bernie left, and Hubert spoke as they watched her retreat, his somber voice holding a tone Edelgard had never heard before- a soft sort of _awe._

“ Who would have believed,” he said, and he sounded almost _soft_ , in that moment, “ that when all our hopes and dreams fell on her shoulders, she would prove strong enough to carry them to safety?”

Edelgard turned to her oldest friend, a smile on her face.

“ I'm more surprised at how you've accepted her into our company,” she said, ribbing him gently. “ You are the first to say I can trust no one, but you've never raised a single complaint about Bernie.”

Hubert shrugged gently. “ She was tested, and proved true,” he said. “ The issue with loyalty is that there is no way to _test_ it safely, and _real_ tests carry so much danger that it's just not worth it. But Bernadetta was tested, and truly... and she passed. I am careful, Lady Edelgard... but when I failed you, your life was in Bernadetta's hands, and she safeguarded it as carefully as I would. I have- and I am as surprised by this as you are- no doubts about her.”

They shared a smile, and then they returned to their daily routines, awaiting midnight.

-

At midnight, in the hidden camp of the Flame Emperor, miles outside Garreg Mach in the woods, the sound of space warping about itself played out multiple times in rapid succession, as all the Black Eagles- save Linhardt and Caspar- popped into existence. Soldiers stationed outside- Adrestian volunteers, remnants of those Houses punished by the Seven for believing in their Emperor, eager to serve Edelgard and take all Fodlan for their own- ignored the noises, only briefly looking to ensure that it was as it should be.

“ Oh, the taste, it is like Dorothea's cooking,” Petra said, as she quickly spit the grains of dust out of her mouth and into a bag she had prepared. “ This is being horrible.”

“ It's not that bad,” Dorothea said, the opera singer's orphaned tongue so used to horrible tastes that the high iron-zinc tang of the powder didn't really bother her. She spit hers out more gently, but into her hand, not having prepared like Petra. “ Kinda reminds me of the time I had to drink water out of a forge's gutters; tasted like this.”

“ I am always surprised by the amount of punishment you endured as a child, Dorothea,” Edelgard said, spitting her own crystal into a handkerchief Hubert held out to her and unable to stop a frown on her face. Gah, what a terrible taste on the tongue. “ For all that I myself have endured, at least I was always able to _eat_. Fixing the situation of the poor will be a priority in my reign when the war is over. No one should suffer like that.”

“ No, but the poor will always exist, Edelgard,” Dorothea said cheerfully as she handed her dust crystals to Petra.

“ There's poor, and then there's... everything you've ever talked about,” Edelgard said. “ There must be a better way.”

Bernadetta coughed nearby as she spat her dust back into the bag. “ Gaah, I think I swallowed some of it.”

“ I hope not,” Hubert said. “ It is both painful when leaving the body and very expensive.”

“ Goddess,” Bernadetta muttered. “ Wait, you said this was expensive... oh man, I don't have to check my, err, oh Goddess, you don't want it back after it, uhh, comes out of me, do you? Oh Goddess, I do not like that idea.”

“ It is ruined by human digestive processes,” Hubert noted clinically, though he did smirk at Bernadetta's obvious distress; even with friends, Hubert's one true vice was sadism, and Bernie's concern amused him. “ So no, you do not have to retrieve it. But it will cut like hell in your intestines before it softens. Come to me when the stomach pains begin; I've potions for it.”

“ Thank the Goddess,” Bernadetta muttered.

Edelgard gave everyone a moment to recover, waiting until Hubert was at her side before she spoke. They were in her innermost camp, this secret thing her volunteers had built in the deep forest outside Garreg Mach. This particular area was her personal ground, a flat circle of land in the forest containing both her command tent- where, among other things, the Flame Emperor regalia was stored- and Hubert's tent. Guards stood around the flat circle, at such a distance that normal conversation could not be heard by them; faithful volunteers that they were, Edelgard did not think any would betray her, but it never hurt to be safe.

All around them, the camp sat in relative peace and quiet, only a few noises punctuating the air. Most soldiers were asleep; the wakeful were either gathered around campfires, talking or trading for this or that piece of equipment, or on watch. The entire thing was peaceful, despite being built for war...

After a moment, just drinking up that quiet, Edelgard began.

“ My Black Eagles,” she said, some part of her recognizing that this was the first time she'd ever _really_ addressed her House as _her_ House, “ I... am almost not sure where to begin. What I am about to tell you will sound as if I have been stricken with insanity; I assure you, I am perfectly sane. I wish what I was about to say _was_ madness; it would be less terrifying in its implications that way.”

She paused, not really sure how to breach the subject; how to talk about something so big? Maybe she should see what they knew first...

She turned to one of her most faithful. “ Bernie, how much do you know of Adrestia's history?”

“ Oh!” Bernie said, not expecting a history test. “ Uhh, not much? I know Varley history pretty good, but I... I'm not really up on Adrestia as a whole?...”

Edelgard nodded. “ Dorothea?”

The songstress shrugged. “ I know a lot of historical operas, but those vary quite a bit in how truthful they are; but I did do a lot of independent reading in preparation for Garreg Mach. What part of Adrestian history are we speaking of?”

“ The very beginning,” Edelgard said. “ The first Emperor, my ancestor.”

“ Wilhelm,” Petra said. “ He founded the Empire with your Saint Seiros, I have reading- have read.”

Edelgard nodded, a bit surprised... but she shouldn't be. Foreigner that she was, Petra was still quite intelligent; it shouldn't be a surprise she'd learned of her conqueror's history. “ Precisely. Saint Seiros... well.”

Edelgard sighed. “ What do you know of Seiros?”

“ She aided your ancestor in forming his nation,” Petra said. “ They fought back against Nemesis and his band, working with the Ten Elites, and founded Adrestia over the entirety of the continent.”

Edelgard nodded her head. “ Excellent. Now, let's skip ahead a bit. What do you know about Faerghus' beginning?”

“ Oh, this one I know well!” Dorothea said. “ It was started by King Loog, who beat the Empire at Gronder Field and won Faerghus' independence. Loog has many fine operas... though a lot of it sounds kind of unbelievable. I don't think real life is that dramatic.”

Edelgard nodded.

“ You are so close to the truth, Dorothea,” Edelgard said. “ What...”

She paused, licked her lips. Now or never.

“ What would you say if I told you... that you were right? That it _was_ unbelievable... because it was a trick?”

“ What do you mean?” the songstress answered.

Edelgard sighed. The truth was so _big_... how to talk about it? How to address this... it was like trying to explain the _sky_ , to talk about this truth. How do you broach a subject that changed... everything?

“ Before I go any further- talk of why you find Loog's story... unbelievable, I think you said.”

“ Well, it's all rather fairy tale, isn't it?” Dorothea said. “ The sudden brutal winter, that could be excused as good luck; but then there were... well, just a lot of coincidences.”

“ Would you be letting me step in, love?” Petra asked her. “ I think I know more what Edelgard is speaking of.”

“ Feel free, dear,” the songstress said, and the two unconsciously held hands as the islander spoke.

“ Loog was not the first to be rebelling against Adrestia, but he was the first to be succeeding,” Petra said. “ But so much went right for him that it is just... unlikely, in the cool of night, to be _just_ luck. Imperial generals who happened to drop dead before they could crush him; the incompetence of the then-Emperor of Adrestia, who I do not believe could have dressed himself without disaster... Leceister, being quiet all those years, when Leceister raised rebellions before and after. I have extensively read up on Loog, and my reading is being... interesting, in light of your words, Edelgard.”

“ Your knowledge of rebellions against Adrestia is somewhat concerning,” Hubert deadpanned, and Petra gave an extended shrug, the Brigid equivalent of rolling her eyes.

“ The information is being useless for Brigid, Hubert; be calming your suspicion. Loog had the mountains to be helping him, and he was opposing an Emperor who was being his own court jester; Gronder should have been an Imperial victory, not the rout that it was. Brigid has no mountains, and Edelgard is not being incompetent. Besides, Loog was... _lucky,_ and I do not wish to base a rebellion on such an apparently personal trait.”

“ _Lucky_ is not... incorrect,” Hubert said. “ Imprecise, but not incorrect.”

Edelgard nodded.

“ Petra has hit on the heart of the matter,” Edelgard said, taking control of the conversation again. “ You are right, Petra- Loog was lucky. _Unusually_ lucky. If I said he had outside help, would you believe it?”

Petra pondered it a moment, then nodded her head. “ That would be a better explanation. Sometimes one is just being lucky, but so much went right for him that it is seeming... somewhat silly.”

Edelgard swallowed.

“ It goes deeper than that. What would you say if I told you that all of Fodlan was a trick? That there were puppet masters of inhuman birth behind the scenes, who saw Adrestia as a threat, and split it- that Loog had outside help?”

They were silent for a long moment.

“ ...Inhuman?” Dorothea ventured, and Edelgard nodded.

“ Inhuman. There was... another race in Fodlan, one that calls itself the Children of the Goddess, and they have been ruling from behind the scenes for a long, long time...”

Another pause. Petra sighed.

“ I... do not like this, Edelgard,” she said. “ Because you are not stupid, and are being perfectly sane, which means either you have been tricked... or you must be telling all that is truth. And this truth... how in the world did you come to be knowing this?”

“ My ancestor left a record,” Edelgard said, bolstered; they weren't... yelling at her, or claiming she was lying. They seemed almost ready to... believe... “ Saint Seiros helped him; but he did not fully trust her.”

( The truth no one ever knew was this; Wilhelm had been in love with Seiros, who never knew of his affections, and he feared that his desire for her had overwhelmed his sense in allying with her. Her willingness to rewrite history had unnerved him, and so he had decided that someone should keep a record of the truth, preserved down the years. On such little things do nations entire turn.)

“ What was in the record?” Dorothea asked, old actress' instincts kicking in, wanting to know what the plot twist was.

“ Seiros rewrote much of history... many truths that they kept silent, hidden... pages they tore out of the history books, and burned alive, along with all those who knew them. Not everything was in my ancestor's record; I have others who have told me what happened in that ancient age. There was a human civilization that was _destroyed_ before recorded history began, fighting this other race... so much of Fodlan's beginnings are hidden.”

Edelgard sighed. “ Now the race that murdered humanity's first civilization reigns over us, not from the shadows, but openly under the sun. Rhea is one of them; possibly Seiros' direct descendant, given how much she looks like the portraits of the saint. So are most of the Church leadership. They established the Church, and then gave humanity Crests to control them. We are all servants of inhuman beasts...”

Petra made a noise, a strangled thing of recognition.

“ Petra, dear?” Dorothea said, and Petra put a hand to her head- and it was _shaking_ , to the surprise of everyone there.

“ There is a tale,” she said, slowly, making sure her words were right, “ in Brigid. Of... dragons in Fodlan. Dragons that became people. Wore human faces. Are you- Edelgard, you _cannot_ be...”

“ I am,” Edelgard said, feeling bolstered by this foreign woman's words. “ Your people have remembered the truth long after we were forced to forget it. I would like to hear that myth, when you've time.”

“ It is old,” Petra said, taking her hand away from her forehead, her eyes full of some bright emotion- something warm and hot, something scared and _excited_ both. “ Beyond ancient... I... Edelgard, this _cannot_ be true, but you are not to be foolish... Dragons in Fodlan.”

“ Dragons are Church stuff, though,” Dorothea said. “ Not _real_.”

“ Too real,” Edelgard said. Petra sighed, then gave her a smile.

“ I must admit, Edelgard,” she said, “ you are being most surprising today.”

“ I'm just glad you seem to realize the... _implications_ of all this,” Edelgard said. “ But there's more, I'm afraid.”

“ Lady Edelgard,” Hubert began, but she shushed him with a wave of her hand. They had argued relentlessly about what they would tell them, but now, seeing both their acceptance- and also curious as to what Brigid had managed to remember in stories- Edelgard decided to go for it all. She would... tell them everything.

“ I'm receiving help from the remnants of humanity's first civilization, those who survived the assault of the dragons,” Edelgard said. “ Much of this was... their idea. The soldiers of this camp are loyalists, volunteers of Adrestia... but much of the support I have is from the remnants.”

“ You... do not seem as excited about that as I'd have thought,” Dorothea said, perceptive as always.

“ They are monsters,” Edelgard said. “ They murdered my family, and put another Crest in my veins... they only care about winning their war with the Nabateans.”

“ Nabateans?” Bernadetta asked.

“ The name the dragons take for themselves,” Edelgard said. “ Along with Children of the Goddess, the arrogant bastards. They are monsters, and the other side are monsters, too- and all Fodlan has been caught between these two vicious juggernauts. It's up to me to stop them. They murdered my family- shattered nations- promulgated false religions and false ideologies. I'm the only person who'll ever be able to stop them, and set history back on the _right_ track.”

She sighed. “ But for now, I need them. The Agarthans are what they call themselves; they show up sometimes as boogeymen in old stories, remembered as those who slither in the dark...”

“ We did a play on them once,” Dorothea said, softly. “ Goblins and spooks and ghouls... it was a horror-themed play. Didn't like it, I had to be the helpless victim... I... you're telling me those are real, too? Edelgard... you are expecting me to believe that... dragons and slithering ones... next you'll tell me the Goddess Herself is our enemy. Dragons are holy, right? Are we- are we fighting the Goddess? She's not even real!”

( In Garreg Mach, Byleth had nightmares in her sleep, as Sothis _almost_ remembered herself... but then it was gone, the dual-entity going back to sleep; but they would wake tired, and feeling as if they'd missed something... important.)

“ I, admittedly, have no information on that,” Edelgard said. “ Be Gods real or not- and I think they are not- this is true: dragons and slithering ones exist, and it is up to me to stop both, and save humanity. That is the burden you are now sharing in.”

A long and pregnant pause, as they absorbed this information, Dorothea and Petra's faces stunned as they considered Edelgard's words, Bernadetta's surprisingly calm.

And then, apropos of nothing, Dorothea _laughed._

It was a dark and amused sound, rich and bitter as purest chocolate with irony and joy both. It was a good laugh for midnight, a laugh of frustration and annoyance and delight all three, and it rang out loud and clear over the camp. Even the volunteers- who were far enough away to not have heard the conversation- turned at that noise, hearing Dorothea laugh that big laugh.

“ Of course!” she said, as she finished, trailing off into chuckles. “ Of course. My life is like this. I start as a orphan, then I'm an opera star, then I fall in love with a princess... and now, now I'm going to be fighting fucking dragons and slithering ones. Why not? Why _not_?”

She laughed again, and Petra laughed with her, her tones a bright and chirping counterpoint to Dorothea's shadowed oratory. “ My love,” the Brigid princess said, “ you have forgotten- you are doing it at the behest of the Flame Emperor. This is being just like one of your operas, except we are having the misfortune of living it.”

Dorothea laughed harder at that. “ Of course,” she said. “ If we win this, I'll even have to write the play.”

Edelgard raised an eyebrow and looked at Hubert, who likewise raised an eyebrow. This wasn't entirely the reaction they'd expected. Dorothea and Petra calmed down, Dorothea giving her a small kiss before wiping her eyes of laughter's tears and turning to Edelgard.

“ I cannot speak for Petra or Brigid,” Dorothea said, smiling, “ but I... well, it puts a lot of things into relief, and why not? I came here to find security and love, in that order, and I found love and security, in that order. So my schedule's freed up. I knew I'd be helping you, but I thought this was just about politics... not this... heroic war to save Fodlan.”

“ The same here,” Petra said, though her grin was sharper, more... _eager_. “ I assumed the Flame Emperor was an attempt to rob the Church with deniability being plausible, claiming someone else did it... but this... this sounds like it will be _glorious._ And... Edelgard, you are giving me a chance to be putting my skill to the test against legends. I have a warrior's pride. I think I might be thanking you, when this is done. I wish to hunt dragons... and these slithering ones, will they make worthy prey?”

“ They are dangerous and deadly,” Hubert said, and Petra nodded, grin growing, smile sharpening itself like a sword.

“ Excellent.”

That was two of the three; Edelgard turned to her last, though it was Hubert who spoke up first.

“ You have been quiet, Bernadetta,” Hubert said. “ Does all this overwhelm your spirit?”

“ Actually, it's kind of a relief, honestly,” the archer said, shrugging lightly. “ I knew we'd be fighting all Fodlan from the start, when I fired that first arrow; that hasn't changed. But hearing this, it makes it... more than just a war, you know? This matters, we're saving humanity from the Nabateans and the Agarthans both. It sounds kind of heroic when you put it that way.”

Hubert's sardonic smile resurfaced. “ It is a _relief_ to be fighting inhuman monsters? I expect such joy from a born warrior queen like Petra, but to hear it from you... You are a _bundle_ of unexpected delights, Bernadetta.”

“ Bernie, if you would,” she said. “ I- I don't like being called Bernadetta.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and she quailed before him- but he relented. He owed her his life and, more importantly, his Lady's life; and something in him, for all his sadism, was... disturbed, to see this brave girl, who had just declared her _relief_ at the knowledge she would be facing inhuman monsters, somehow afraid of nothing more than social interaction. Someone brave enough to declare war on all Fodlan should not tremble in the face of anyone, even Hubert himself...

“ Will we be fighting all of Fodlan?” Petra asked. Edelgard nodded.

“ We will have to. The other nations... they're not _supposed_ to exist, Petra. The Church did that, supporting Loog, then prompting Leceister to rebel. Adrestia is the only human nation that is supposed to be here; I think perhaps they feared we would become the next Agartha and challenge them. They will be wielded as the Church's fists against us... though I hope we can avoid as much bloodshed as possible.”

( _Do you?_ Her truth whispered, as her rage _danced_ , the idea- so much of Fodlan, all fighting, all _burning_ , the way she burns inside, the way she can't _stop_ burning inside, yes, yes, yes, _yes_ )

“ What is your plan?” Petra asked.

“ I hope to both kill the Church's leadership- particularly Rhea- and do as much damage as possible at Garreg Mach so that the war goes smoother- the faster it is done, the fewer people will die.”

Petra nodded, though her face had turned... thoughtful.

“ What should we do?” Dorothea asked. “ I admit, going back to school is going to be... quite a let down, after this.”

“ Schedules first,” Hubert said. “ We will make announcements, using Lady Edelgard's position as Head of the Black Eagles. Training, of course; and you will be coming here, to do much of it. We will teach you to be powerful soldiers... and you will put that power in Lady Edelgard's service.”

“ Fair enough,” Dorothea said, then, remembering something, laughed again. “ Oh my, Edelgard, when I sang that little piece of opera to you the first week we were here- is _this_ why you reacted so strongly?”

“ Yes,” Edelgard said, chuckling too. “ That... you were _so close_ to the truth, and I _knew_ it was just dumb luck, but it flustered me.”

Dorothea chuckled. “ My apologies, then.”

“ A question, Edelgard,” Petra asked. “ Why are you trying to kill Claude?”

_Oh._ Edelgard sighed, and shook her head. “ That... was an act born of misinformation. A mistake. It won't happen again.”

( Inside, Hubert was touched that his lady would not openly berate him or blame his foolishness before these others, though she had the right.)

“ Ah. Good. I must admit to liking him,” Petra said. “ So, Edelgard, what is to be our next move tonight?”

“ Return home,” Hubert said. “ Place the crystals under your tongue again; they can detect the last place you were, and will take you back there.”

“ What about mine?” Bernadetta said, panicking. “ I swallowed them!”

“ Other crystals will work,” Hubert said. “ The energy of warping sticks with one; the crystals pick up on it after the initial usage. This also means you cannot use these crystals for anything else unless you wait a week for the energy signature to leave one, but that's not particularly relevant at the moment.”

“ Edelgard,” Petra said, “ Might I be speaking with you in private? Without Hubert present.”

“ Of course not,” Hubert replied on reflex, but Edelgard held a hand up.

“ Why?”

“ Hubert is a bad adviser,” Petra said bluntly. “ He would be making a wondrous head of household guard, he is being so very protective of you, but he is not making the best vizier. He is too... too _sharp,_ Edelgard. Not every question is best met with blade, but Hubert has no softness in him, he has no ability to consider options other than the dark and violent. He pushes too far one way when a ruler must use each tool in turn, he is like... he is being like an arrow that has no place to hold it, or a sword without hilt. He was the one who pushed to assassinate Claude, wasn't he?”

Edelgard swallowed. “ Yes,” she said. “ But as you said, he is a good protector. Why should I send him away and speak with you?”

“ For- be using your mind, Edelgard!” Petra said, giving another long, extended shrug of irritation. “ Come, what are you fearing? Sudden attack? In the middle of your own army? Along with the reasons I have already given for being on your side! Come now, there is reasonable caution and there is absurdity, do not be falling into the latter. I merely wish to give you time to think my words over without Hubert whispering for you to always take the most jagged edge of your options into your ears, give you a chance to be coming to your own conclusions.”

Hmm... Edelgard's instinct was to say _no_ , but... Petra, to her irritation, had a point...

( Edelgard's truth threw all of its strength behind the word _yes_. Yes, because there was something in Petra- whom Edelgard could not help but think of as an equal, knowing her history, seeing her strength- that her truth _knew_ could help it, help it win this endless war with Edelgard's fiery rage.)

“ Fine,” Edelgard said. “ Of course, I will be discussing it with Hubert later.”

“ I expect as much,” Petra replied.

“ My Lady,” Hubert began, but Edelgard shook her head.

“ Be gone, Hubert. Return. I'll follow shortly,” Edelgard said.

To everyone's surprise, Bernadetta spoke up.

“ Can I stay? I'm not an adviser, but I'd feel better if someone was here with Edelgard,” she said. “ I won't say anything.”

“ Bernie's presence is an acceptable compromise,” Hubert said, and Edelgard sighed.

“ That is fine with me. Petra?”

“ Bernie can be staying,” Petra said.

“ Do you want me to go ahead?” Dorothea asked Petra.

“ Yes, dear,” Petra said. “ Be returning. I shall follow soon.”

Hubert and Dorothea disappeared, and then Edelgard and Petra stood together, facing one another.

“ What did you wish to talk about?” Edelgard said. Petra sighed.

“ What do you want to see, at the end of this?” Petra asked her. “ What is the end result for humanity when Adrestian flags fly from every tower on the continent?”

“ Freedom,” Edelgard said, the word carrying the closest tones to reverence she could manage. The thing she could do, that would make all her suffering worth it, that... that would make it so, if an afterlife existed, her siblings would not gather around her and tell her that she had _wasted_ the life she had never earned, that had been taken from them and gifted to her unworthy self.

( This nightmare does Rhea and Edelgard both share; they both fear their own dead, they fear that someday, when they die, the dead will gather and ask them why they did not do _more_. It is a nightmare both have woken screaming from.)

Petra nodded. “ I have been hear- apologies. I have _heard_ that there are only four good reasons to fight; to protect oneself, to enact justice, to save another, and to be free... and I am in agreement. But... I have questions, Edelgard.”

“ As to my methods? I know that this stealth is not for everyone, and even I do not wish to be allied with the Slithering Ones, but I do what I must...”

“ No, I have no complaint with methodology,” Petra said, surprising Edelgard. “ We are both rulers. The simple truth is, any decision we make will hurt, kill or ruin someone. My father once told me that every ruler is a murderer of children, because every decision you make means a family, somewhere, goes hungry, and that a ruler must simply remember that and do what they can to keep the damage manageable. We will both do horrible things, Edelgard, for our people, and in our jobs as rulers. That part does not bother me.”

“ Then... what questions do you have?” Edelgard asked, and Petra sighed, gearing up to say soemthing she couldn't take back.

“ Your dreams are to be sounding nice,” Petra said. “ But you do not dream for everyone, Edelgard. Will Brigid be free to share in your dreams?”

“ Of course,” Edelgard said on reflex, but immediately realized it was the wrong answer when Petra shook her head.

“ Really? With our resources in Adrestian hands? With our nobility made subservient to yours? I am to be a Queen of Brigid, Edelgard, yet still I must bow to your Adrestian crown. What will your people do, should one of my people prove their greater? They will not be moving aside for them. They will be petitioning you or your successor to push my people down again. Or they will be killing or harming them, confident the law of Adrestia will be supporting a native son against the foreign. You seek freedom, Edelgard? Have you considered truly how many chains you seek to break? How many common folk do you even know? Have you asked them how to set them free?”

“ I... what?” Edelgard said, taken aback, taking a _step_ back, Edelgard was strong enough to turn over the world's very order but in the face of Petra she quailed.

( Her rage roared back. _No, no one gets to talk to us like that, never again._ )

“ Edelgard... you are seeking to fight all Fodlan. Perhaps you must. But if you are to be doing this, eliminating the other nations... Edelgard, you will not be freeing them. Destroy the nations if you wish, but none will be forgetting that Faerghus and Leceister were once there. Even if they are tricks of dragonkind, they are still peoples and cultures entire. You will free Adrestia, Edelgard; but I do not think you will be making freedom of anyone else. I think they will always be subservient to trueborn Adrestians, no matter what you are to be doing; your people will have conqueror's right over them, and that will never change.”

Edelgard's breath began to quicken. Red wormed its way into her eyesight.

( _How dare this foreign-born bitch speak to us. How dare she. How dare she question the dream- I'll kill her. I'll kill her._ )

“ Your dreams are brave and magnificent, Edelgard, but... if you go about them in this way, you will not be dreaming for all humanity. You will be dreaming them for all Adrestia, but the other nations... it will be so much bloodshed, Edelgard. I am thinking you are better than this... this barbarian assault.”

Edelgard's veins _trembled_ with rage, her hands _shook_ , she...

She...

She slammed down on her feelings with iron will. She could not... she wanted to grab this foreigner's throat in her bare hands and choke this bitch of Brigid until she died, until she stopped saying these... these...

( _Truths_ , her truth said, as her rage roared and strangled it too... but her anger had no real answer to Petra's words, and some part of her recognizes this flaw, some part of her truth files this away, and her rage, feeling its grip begin to slip, shrieks ever louder.)

She could not kill Petra. Brigid would go into open rebellion, and of all the things Edelgard needed, a war in the south wasn't anywhere on the list. She wanted to, she wanted to so _badly..._ she was so _angry_...

Breathe, Edelgard. Breathe.

She actually missed Petra's final words. Couldn't hear them, over the pounding of blood in her skull. She... she wanted to kill her. She would murder her here just to make her _stop_.

( Goddess, what was she doing? Normal people didn't... but she had not been normal since the dark. The barriers normal people had inside that kept them from killing were just _gone_ in Edelgard, gone and dead with her siblings... It seemed that her ruthlessness had its downsides, that it meant a loss of control, horrifying for a woman whose self-control and need for control were the only two pillars holding her together.)

Her hands twitched to kill, and all the muscles of her body tensed to lunge.

“ Please,” she begged through gritted teeth, and could not say who it was she pleaded with. “ Leave me.”

Petra, surprised by the depth of Edelgard's reaction, left with a quick warping sound, left with no more of those horrible words on her lips, and Edelgard sat there, in her makeshift camp, and concentrated on slowing her breathing, trying not to think.

( But Edelgard is smart- not wise, but smart- and so she cannot stop. Her truth recognizes the opportunity and leaps on it. _This path will not lead to your happy ending._ Against that truth was her rage, her endless, endless rage, rage that tries to burn her truth into silence even as that truth speaks words she cannot ignore. _What is wrong with you, Edelgard, that a few questions leave you trembling with fury?)_

What is wrong indeed. Petra's points are fair points, she must admit, the huntress' arrows have struck true, but...

_(But what?_ Her truth prods. _But that you are weak in only one way, Edelgard, but it's a hell of a way to be weak in... you cannot_ change. _No matter what._ )

Breathe, Edelgard. Breathe.

( Her rage finally silences the damning voice, strangles it with burning hands. She... she's so _angry_... she fights. It is all she can do. She fights her nightmares and she fights the Church and she will fight the Agarthans and now it seems she is at war with herself, too. Now she realizes why she can call on storms of fire, for all the cold and dark inside her; she is fire indeed, she can never rest, or she will die. She must always burn something.)

( Even herself.)

It is a long few minutes before Edelgard is able to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will notice that I'm rearranging some of what Edelgard knows here; this is partly because it's hard to pin down what she DOES know for sure vs. what she's guessing about, and partly because she's selling it to her audience. She herself mostly believes her own rhetoric; Edelgard specifically has no idea that the Nabateans suffered a genocide that makes any rule as future lords of Fodlan... iffy. Really, her trouble is just Rhea.


	5. Distinction, Adjournment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy.
> 
> SHIT.
> 
> I didn't expect this to be this long; I had... revelations over the last few days.
> 
> Buckle up. We're going WEIRD places.

**Distinction, Adjournment**

He woke up after a long, dreamless rest, aided by nothing more than his own exhaustion. He had nightmares sometimes, but only the regular kind most people do- well, most people like him, anyway, he and his fellow mongrels who were not one thing or another but both, his fellow outsiders.

A retainer, loyal for a few months only- but who, in her heart of hearts, was beginning to hope she could serve him for years to come, was beginning to grow to like her role as his strong right hand- gently kicked him awake, with a big grin on her face. She had arisen from her own sleeping arrangements, a pile of blankets and pillows arranged under where his window had once been, from which she'd kept watch most of the night, taking the time to get his schedule ready in the meantime.

She was running on almost no sleep, but she'd catch it back later, trusting to Crest-driven strength and her own natural perkiness to keep her stable until then, the way it had so far.

( She would never be as lazy as she had been, not after that horrible night where she heard the fight in Claude's room, when she realized just _what_ she had almost lost; but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was time to grow up, just a little, and in the right way- in service to this man, who was the first person to ever look at Hilda von Goneril and see something great in her, in whom she, in turn, senses greatness.)

Claude grumbled and tried to scoot away from Hilda's foot. “ G'way.”

“ Time to wake up~!” Hilda sing-songed as she booted him again, less gently this time. Claude groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, away from her foot.

“ Why do I let you stay in my room?” he mumbled. Hilda laughed, and poked him again with her foot, clad in a functional- yet fashionable- boot.

“ Because you love me, like everybody does,” she said. “ Now up, lazybones!”

“ Now that's rude,” Claude replied as he rose up to a sitting position, hair frazzled and eyes bleary from sleep. “ My bones maintain a perfectly normal level of activity. It's my brain that's lazy. You should apologize to my skeleton, you've hurt its feelings.”

“ I'm trying not to think about skeletons with feelings,” Hilda said, shaking her head. “ That's just... I prefer my skeleton quiet.”

“ Ah, you have silenced your skeleton, I see,” Claude said, grinning. “ Terribly tyrannical of you, Hilda. I let my skeleton express its opinion freely!”

“ Still not thinking about it,” Hilda replied, shaking her head more emphatically. “ Let's get going, daylight's wasting, and you've got stuff to do today!”

“ Alright, alright,” Claude said, and got up. His room was much cleaner these days; Hilda had made him clean up the mess, since the room could have either Hilda or his book pile but not both, and after the assassination attempt, he... found it hard to sleep without someone there. It made it easier, to have a guard; he felt safe with Hilda in the room.

It wasn't the first assassination attempt made on him, but it had come much closer to success than any of the others... he'd let his guard down. Foolish. He'd felt safe at Garreg Mach... stupid decision, in hindsight. If it had not been for Byleth...

Heh. He could say that twice, and it would still be true; twice had Claude stared death in the face, and both times, Byleth had put herself in its path. He owed her so much...

But then again, that's part of what today was about.

“ What's our agenda?” he asked Hilda as he dressed; he knew most of it, but you always checked the list, it kept you from making mistakes. Hilda had dressed before waking him; she glanced over her journal as he slipped into his usual wear.

“ First everybody's meeting in the classroom so we can talk to Byleth's head ghost,” Hilda said. “ Which is... super weird, but let's be honest, it's _almost_ not the weirdest thing we've ever dealt with.”

“ Yeah,” Claude said quietly in agreement. _Almost_ not the weirdest thing they'd ever dealt with still meant it _was_ the weirdest thing they'd ever dealt with, a truth neither of them said out loud. “ Byleth said the ghost had... messages for us.”

“ That's gonna be interesting,” Hilda deadpanned.

An understatement; Claude himself did not know what in the world to _think_ about all that Byleth had told them, in the wake of the assassination attempt. Something that had been put on hold while they dealt with Miklan, that now they were going to face head-on.

Time travel, once a day. ( _Restores at dawn, specifically_ , Byleth had said. _Something to do with her nature as the Beginning._ )

Alternate timelines- disasters averted- through that same power. Good to know Kostas would have killed him; good to know the assassin had him dead to rights.

( Not good to know at all; another reason he took comfort in Hilda's presence, he was still rattled from the attack and the revelations both. He was supposed to be dead, but for Byleth... and how in the world will he repay her all her kindnesses? She had literally unwound the clock for him, what could he do that was equal to that?)

He didn't question whether it was real or not. He was an old schemer himself, and thus he had learned of an amusing, ironic truth- lies were often less outrageous than the truth. A lie, after all, had to be believable to be useful.

The truth, though, it could be anything it wanted to be... and this... this was too strange to be anything _but_ true. No one would lie about this; and especially not Byleth, who had all the subtle nature and clever subterfuge of a berserk crocodile.

Which meant... all this was true. Byleth could travel through time, she had a ghost in her head that answered to the name of God... and the thought stuck in Claude's mind like a thorn, _what did it_ _ **mean?**_

So many things, all pointing to some greater conclusion he could only grasp at. The Sword of the Creator, red light leaking out from Byleth's clenched fist on the pommel. Rhea's attentions, so focused on Teach. A ghost only Byleth could see, that bore the name of God... and, incidentally, Claude had never been more grateful that his own spiritual leanings were Almyran. He couldn't imagine how much _weirder_ this would be, otherwise.

He had to figure this out. For himself, because information has always saved Claude, and not knowing things has nearly killed him; but also, and more importantly, for Byleth, Byleth with red eyes, crying after she saved him, crying because she had seen him die. Byleth, who never cried. Byleth, his precious Teach, whom he owes so much, who had been so _upset_ to explain her powers to her precious Deer, upset that she was the strange one again, that she was once more a freak.

He'd gentled that as much as he could, and he was proud that he'd had the words to comfort her; prouder still that the rest of the Deer, without his prompting, had joined in with their own soothing words, had assured her that she was _their_ Professor, no matter how strange she was. Claude had never been more proud of his House than he had been that night, when Byleth told them her truth, and they'd stuck with her... hell, maybe it fit. The Deer, much like Leceister itself, had always had a reputation for being a house of weirdos...

Though Byleth had not told them all the truth. Said she had more to say- but then Miklan had happened, and they were busy dealing with that... but now she was near-recovered, and it was time to, finally, talk.

Claude hoped that more answers were forthcoming. He could not turn the clock back for her, the way she did for him, but he could figure this _out_ , and repay his debt another way.

_I_ _will_ _figure this out,_ he swore to himself as he finished dressing; hell, he'd always thought he was clever, there was no mystery he couldn't unravel. He would figure out what was going on, and put Teach's mind at ease.

“ Okay,” Claude said. “ That's most of the morning gone, then. After that, what's left?”

“ You wanted to talk to Lysithea today about her comments regarding time, and then Ferdinand wanted to discuss patrol routes, and Ignatz had something quote-unquote “weird” to talk to you about.”

“ That... that doesn't sound promising,” Claude said, and Hilda joined him in chuckling.

“ And coming from Ignatz! He's usually so dependable,” Hilda said. “ Except for that part about him having the hots for the Goddess.”

“ You know, I'm actually kind of proud of him for that,” Claude mused. “ I mean, everybody has quirks, and I'm glad he chose the weirdest possible one. Like, he _is_ usually a pretty normal guy, so I'm really glad he decided to stand out by going whole-hog on his quirk, it makes him fit in better with the rest of the Deer. We're all kinda weird, then Ignatz walks in, and he seems so normal, you know? Then you figure out that Ignatz is the one guy in Fodlan to look at the stained glass ceiling of Garreg Mach and go 'I'd hit that' and you realize, no, he's a freak too.”

“ We wouldn't have let him in otherwise,” Hilda giggled. “ Anyway, what's first?”

Claude rubbed his chin. Idly, he wondered what he'd look like with a beard. “ Alright, Byleth first. Then let's go deal with Ferdinand right after, that'll be the shortest conversation, we can have it in the classroom as soon as Byleth's done. Then Lysithea, but that'll have to be in private... and then Ignatz' mystery weirdness. Please, don't let him have painted a sexy picture of the Goddess, I don't think my heart could take it, and Rhea would just... she would unhinge her jaw and swallow him whole, and I don't think I could stand seeing it.”

Hilda laughed with him again, and Claude went out his door, putting on a mask as he did so- nothing physical, just a mask of attitude, of bravado. His mask did not need to cover for lack of sanity- for Claude was quite sane- but over his deeper core, over the more serious man inside the devil-may-care trickster. If no one knew his real goals, then no one could stop them; and Claude had faced baseless opposition for so long that he trusted no one, he assumed everyone was his enemy, or at least, could _be._

It was just easier, to assume distrust; no one ever gave any to outsiders like him, so why give what would not be returned?

So even with Hilda, his faithful retainer, he kept much of himself back.

( He had heard how she talked of Almyrans, after all, though she seemed to restrain herself in his presence recently, had seemed to take more notice recently of his brown skin and foreign features; but he could not trust her fully, no matter how much he wanted to.)

So over his kind heart and heroic dreams he put on his trickster's mask, and few people had ever looked past it and seen the real him... except, perhaps, a very specific woman, who had looked at him across a board and sworn to save him from the most powerful woman in Fodlan, if he should need it.

The memory was close by, came eagerly when called by his active mind. Her smile, her smile and her eyes and her words, offering unexpected aid... and against Rhea, of all people, here in the heart of the Archbishop's power. No wonder he was falling for her; if only...

If only he could _trust_ her.

That was the rub. He didn't trust her, not... not _really_. He _wanted_ to trust her, and that was a feeling he hadn't had in so long it was almost new. He had not _wanted_ to trust someone else since he had been a child; he'd lost the sensation after he was betrayed one time too many, and for no good reason whatsoever. He'd learned as a child that his place as a half-breed meant he was considered less than a person; people felt no loyalty to him, and knew that betraying him or hurting him didn't matter, didn't _count_ the way that betraying one of their own countrymen did.

It was why he'd learned to scheme. People who would fuck over a filthy mongrel like him for fun would pause, if there were punishments for doing so, if it would _cost_ them to hurt him. He'd poisoned, blackmailed, and tricked his way into a position of privilege; before he'd come to the Alliance at his grandfather's call, it had become common knowledge that you did not cross Khalid lightly, and people who cursed his Fodlan heritage in private were all smiles and consideration in public. False-faced bastards.

...Put it away, Khalid. Hell, listen to your own name; your name is not _Claude,_ no matter what you use while you're here in Fodlan. Edelgard would not love a _Khalid._ She would not care to betray a Khalid. Khalid was an Almyran name, after all; and in Fodlan, to be Almyran was to be nobody, outsider, freak. Somebody you didn't have to care about.

( It makes him angry, but Claude's anger is a steady rock in his soul; it anchors him, his anger at injustice. It does not burn or blaze, but grows, he uses his fury to stiffen his spine and his will. Anger, like all emotions, could be expressed in many ways; and in breezy, flippant Claude, it manifested as stony skin and unbreakable will.)

He wished he could make them see the truth- they were all just people- he had so much to share, so much to _give_ , if someone would just let him...

If _Edelgard_ would just let him...

He shook his head, stepped out his door. And, because the world was having a laugh at his expense this morning, there she was- the very lady he'd been thinking of. He gave her a nod and a smile, letting his eyes take in her petite, aristocratic form- not usually his type, if he was being honest. He had Almyran tastes, liked big women with a lot of muscles- of the women at the monastery, Catherine, of all people, was the closest thing to his ideal woman- but love was always exceptional, poets said.

He gave her a nod and a smile, the nod returned with her usual perfect poise, while something respectful passed between Hubert and Hilda, retainer to retainer.

But that was all. Him and his Hilda left, as did Edelgard and her shadow, today too busy for play. Work awaited; the board would go unused today.

( Though Claude was already planning the next game, in some distant part of his head. He had a very ridiculous opening he wanted to try; he couldn't outplay Edelgard, but he _might_ be able to baffle her with bullshit.)

Out the door, into the open air, and the breeze picked up around him as his feet traced the now-familiar path to the Golden Deer's classroom; he was actually excited for this meeting, and dismissed the dour mood his earlier thoughts had led him to. Sure, he couldn't trust Edelgard, but so what? Byleth was about to tell them more of her secrets, and Claude loved nothing more than _knowing._

And something about Byleth felt... big, it felt as if she might be a key that would unlock all the world, if he could unravel how she worked. He owed it to her, but he also felt he would be repaid for his help; and his ambition demanded no less. His great dream... it became more real with every step.

( Freedom. Claude's dream in one word; he wants only to add onto the great tapestry of human liberation, he is one of the few lords in all the history of the world who will ever look at the people toiling away beneath him and think of how to set them free, rather than add his lord's weight to their burdens.)

The classroom of the Golden Deer was reached soon enough. It was a small thing, really, resembled the other classrooms; the Deer had seen fit to change that, and evidence of their uniqueness was scattered all across the once-orderly room, a riot of strangeness no other class matched. The Lions maintained a clean classroom out of diligent habit, and the Eagles had only one or two small messes- generally Caspar or Linhardt's fault- but the Deer's room was just like them, a magnificent mess.

The boards were full of notes on magic- mostly Lysithea's long, looping scrawl, with Marianne's careful, tiny handwriting in little spots, almost hidden away; much less noticeable than Mercedes' cheerful additions, gigantic anecdotes heart-dotted i's in the gentle woman's soft, curving script. Byleth's own words were nearly buried under the long theoretical discussions, never participating directly in the math, but her precise, mechanical writing would point out practical problems with some of Lysithea's more esoteric ideas.

The left wall- left as you entered, at least- had been taken by Leonie, who had turned it into a makeshift armory. A repair workshop filled the back, with numerous weapons ready to be repaired lined up on the back wall behind Byleth's desk, a makeshift forgery for dealing with the simpler repairs that did not require a blacksmith's training to deal with. Closer to the door, multiple supply bags, helpfully labeled with the names of the Deer, were lined up on shelves she'd stolen from some forgotten corner of Garreg Mach; each was stuffed with equipment and lasting rations, which she kept updated, Leonie making the classroom a resupply center and hardpoint just in case of attack.

“ You never know!” she'd told them, when Ferdinand pointed out that such preparation indicated that she assumed _Garreg Mach_ would be under attack, which even Claude, who saw betrayal in every eye, found a bit preposterous. Leonie's fierce expression as she said it indicated she relished the idea, which Claude didn't get, to be honest. Combat was just a necessary chore, a thing he didn't really enjoy that much, despite how good he was at it; it was just part of life. Sometimes, you had to fight a guy.

But Leonie... she loved it. It was dearer to her than her own breath, than water; she was the most battle-hungry of the Deer, she had the proud heart of a warrior. She reminded Claude of his mom, if he was being honest; she didn't have any of his mother's elegance, but she sure as shit had all of his mom's battle fervor. She'd fit right in with Almyra, if they could look past her origins... though Claude knew, from his mother's example, that they could not. His own mother, for all her bravery, was not much beloved in the land she had come to live in, save for a few trusted friends.

...The dour mood threatened to return, so Claude banished those thoughts from his mind, forcibly moved on. His eyes helped, moved across the room and dragged his mind away from Leonie, observing the opposing wall. That wall, on the door's right, remained fairly normal, its back section containing schoolbooks and supplies for their work... but even that had the little remnants of Hilda's drawings, the little ornaments she designed in her spare time. Most were designed for Marianne, of course, but a few were for others- including a rather impressive top hat with sweeping brim for Raphael, with the note “needs additional fanciness” written on the bottom.

Midway down that wall sat Ignatz's latest painting, along with his supplies, the paints and brushes of his not-so-hidden hobby and passion, papers full of unpainted sketches of the world in the artist's careful hand. Most were sketches of nature or suspiciously good-looking sketches of Sothis; and Claude had to admit, even in her stained-glass representations, Seiros had some damn nice hips on her. Some horny-ass priest had designed that, he suspected, one whose mind was on earthly pursuits while he created his vision of the divine.

( Somewhere, Seteth- who had designed the stained-glass based on his memories of his creator, and had no ulterior motives while doing so- felt vaguely insulted, but didn't know why.)

But a few were sketches of his fellow Deer, Lysithea the most prominent among them, and Claude had to admit, Ignatz had the artist's gift; they all looked rather... regal in his drawings. He particularly liked the way he designed phantom antlers behind their heads, crowning each of them; it should have looked silly, but Ignatz made it work.

Those sketches were the last bastion of decency on that side of the room. When one reached the corner closest to the door, one found it had succumbed to intense gentrification; Lorenz and Ferdinand had taken it over, and the Deer's court jesters had converted it into what the other Deer had taken to calling the One Stop Tea Shop. The nearby shelf held a veritable kaleidoscope of varieties of tea, while a small cabinet nearby held over a dozen teapots for brewing in, alongside a multitude of serving cups and a few clever magical things of Adrestia that let you heat tea without the need for a stove, thin strips of metal on stands that contained all the heat of fire without the need for a stove.

Despite those technological marvels, the most important thing in that corner was, perhaps, a simple paper list the duo had made, detailing what their fellow Deer liked and did not like in their tea, so that they could serve their friends what they liked, something they'd come up with all on their own.

( A little thing, but those few scant lines of consideration spoke volumes about both those strange, obnoxious boys, a preview of the greater men both will grow into.)

Right now, those same two redoubtable nobles were occupying their usual places at their One Stop Tea Shop, brewing tea for everyone, consulting that same checklist as they went about their business. Today was going to be a day for talk, and talk went better with tea, a bit of wisdom Ferdinand had shared that Claude had agreed with. Right as they entered, Raphael was given his won cup, sweet almond scent drifting in the air as Raphael went to his seat near the front.

“ Ah, Claude!” Lorenz said. “ Good timing, your Chamomile just finished.”

The others were already here, save Lysithea, the Deer standing near Byleth's desk or having dragged chairs close to it. Ignatz was in front of her, cup of Seiros in his hands. Leaning against the farther right wall was Mercedes, sipping a crescent moon mix, an oddly pensive look on her usually serene face. Marianne sat at the left end of Byleth's desk, with a chair next to her for Hilda, and she appeared to be in her usual state of quiet despair, which her lack of tea could not be helping; she offered a small wave to Hilda, who cheerfully returned it. Leonie stood behind Byleth's shoulder, conversing with her about something in quiet tones; something cheerful, given her big grin. Byleth herself was writing something down, and had a small stack of envelopes before her.

Apparently Claude was fashionably late, beating only their youngest, and he was ten minutes early!

“ Impeccable timing,” Claude said to Lorenz, a bit surprised. “ How'd you know I'd arrive ten minutes early?”

“ You usually do,” Lorenz said. “ I didn't notice it, but Ferdinand did.”

“ Punctuality is a foundational virtue, which Lord Riegan has in abundance,” the Adrestian said, and Lorenz nodded at his wisdom.

“ Indeed. As Lady Hilda always arrives with you, I also prepared her a bit of mint,” Lorenz said. “ And Marianne didn't want to drink without you, so Ferdinand's got some cinnamon that should be done in a moment or two. Apologies for not having it ready at the same time, but the cinnamon mix needs a bit more time, compared to most blends.”

He handed the cup of soothing tea to Claude, while Hilda took the mint from him right after.

“ Thanks,” Claude said, just breathing in its scent for a minute. Perfectly made. Say what you would of Lorenz- and Claude usually did- the man _did_ know his tea.

“ No Albinean Berry Blend?” Hilda asked. Claude took a sip of his tea, let the soothing brew swirl on his tongue for a second before swallowing. Ah. Chamomile was supposed to be good for sleeping, but Claude honestly just liked the flavor. Almyran Pine was his favorite, honestly, but, well, a need for secrecy kept him from indulging at Garreg Mach.

They'd consider anything Almyran barbaric, anyway.

( Just another goddamn barrier to destroy.)

Lorenz sighed at Hilda's question, and Ferdinand chuckled. “ Thank you, Hilda,” the red-haired Adrestian said, as he checked on the pot that was currently heating up a spicy cinnamon blend for Marianne, the Adrestian stand underneath chugging along with its low heat. “ You've just won me five gold!”

“ Oh?” Hilda said, quirking an eyebrow as she took a quick drink of her mint.

“ We had a bet going on what you'd like today,” Lorenz answered. “ Your tastes in tea are broad, Hilda, and you shift what you want nearly every day; you keep us guessing. I bet on mint, he on Berry Blend.”

Hilda snorted. “ Sorry to cost you, Lorenz!” she said, with a cheeky grin, taking another sip of her mint. She'd have preferred berry today, but mint was good too.

“ It's nothing,” Lorenz said airily, as Lysithea arrived behind them. “ A trifle. Half the fun of gambling is the chance of losing, it makes the winning more exciting when it happens.”

“ Wow, we're all here early,” Lysithea said as she stepped in, all the Deer now gathered together.

( They were not complete- not yet- though none of them truly knew this fact, save Byleth, who had only the vaguest sense that they were not yet whole, that places remained to be filled. Three more were wanted before the Herd was whole; but the Lion and the Wolf and the Dragon were yet to come.)

“ True,” Claude said, taking another drink. “ I guess everybody's excited about... well, what's to come.”

“ We still pussyfooting around it?” Lysithea asked, because the dark mage would take the word _subtle_ out back and beat it to death with a shovel if it ever came near her. “ I mean, really, it's...”

“ Do you _want_ the Professor kicked out?” Raphael asked from his seat on the right, a bit farther back than most; he hadn't wanted to block anyone's view. “ 'Cause anyone else would think she was crazy. We know better, but they won't.”

Claude nodded. “ Precisely,” he agreed with the Leceister giant. Good old Raphael, who could be counted on for common sense, an unfortunately rare resource among the Deer. “ Teach has enough shit going on without us talking about all this too openly.”

“ I'm just saying, we might as well face it head-on,” Lysithea said, shrugging her shoulders.

“ Not all of us are living avalanches, Lysithea,” Leonie said, chuckling. “ You might be able to plow any trouble under, but the rest of us are only human.”

“ Please keep it quiet, Lysithea,” Byleth replied, in what most people would hear as a monotone, but that the Deer- who had heard more words from their Professor than anyone but her father- heard as exasperation.

“ Fine!” Lysithea said, throwing a hand up. “ But they'd be fools to think it. The Professor is brilliant.”

Byleth favored her with a warmness in her glance- just an ember- but warmth despite that, for her youngest, loudest, and most forthright student, more straightforward and brutish than even Raphael.

“ Your tea will be ready in a moment,” Lorenz said to the dark mage, giving her a new target to focus on. “ It's got something special, as well.”

“ Oh?” Lysithea said, as Lorenz took a small pot off the shelf that Claude hadn't seen before, a tiny, delicate porcelain thing, with the elegant geometric patterns of Morfis etched on its surface. He opened its lid, and taking up a delicate pair of silver tweezers from a nearby plate, removed from that small pot a single cube of refined sugar.

Lysithea spluttered. “ I... Lorenz! You didn't!”

“ I did,” Lorenz said, proud of himself as he always was, the smug little shit; but at the moment, it was hard to fault him for it. Refined sugar was _expensive_ ; the little cube he dropped into a clean teacup would cost more than a month's salary for most of Garreg Mach's workers. “ I ordered it from a merchant after the Tomb. I figure our valiant mage deserved a treat for her great deed- the Death Knight was no easy opponent, and valor should be rewarded.”

“ I...” Lysithea began, shocked and surprised both from the generosity of the act as well as the recognition it represented. For the girl who wanted only to _matter_ , before death took her too soon, Lorenz' words were as sweet as the sugar.

_And from_ _Lorenz_ , she thought, bewildered, the last person she'd have expected such honors from.

Lorenz poured her favorite tea over top the sugar, a honeyed-fruit blend that was already so sweet that even Byleth, otherwise fond of sweeter teas, could not stomach it; the orange drink's heat melted the sugar and spread it about the bowl, sweetening it to levels that only Lysithea (and Edelgard) could handle without undergoing at least a few stages of diabetic shock first.

A devastating thing to do to a decent cup of tea, in Lorenz' humble opinion... but he remembered Lysithea with all her might in the Tomb, and he judged that she might have a right to have her tea however she so wanted it.

He handed the cup to her, and Lysithea, overwhelmed, humbly took it with a nod.

“ Thank you,” she said, quickly, and scampered off, taking up a seat beside Ignatz, daring a single taste after letting her cup cool- a taste that left her with a wide smile.

At about this time- just as Marianne's cinnamon tea was finishing- Edelgard and Hubert walked by, poking their heads in. Hubert looked like he'd just killed someone, but he always looked like that; Edelgard, meanwhile, seemed blandly curious.

_I should... probably shut the door_ , Claude thought, but before he could make a move, Hilda acted for him.

“ It's House business, sorry!” she said to them cheerfully, shutting the door and locking it. _Regardless of the fact that Claude and Edelgard are dating- despite their protests- this is private_ , she thought.

Claude nodded in approval at her decision. That was the mark of a good retainer; he hadn't had the thought two seconds before she moved to fulfill it.

“ A wise decision,” Ferdinand muttered, as he poured the cup of cinnamon for Marianne. “ I don't want the Professor to have to suffer any undue attention for this.”

“ She has enough undue attention on her,” Claude said, thinking of Rhea, and the eyes of the most powerful woman in Fodlan on his poor Teach.

( Edelgard's promise to help him... if it was sincere... but there was the rub. He had no way to _force_ her to live up to her end of that deal, and without leverage, he could not believe in her promise; no matter how much he ached to trust her, and see that beautiful smile again.)

Hilda made a noise of agreement as she took the offered cup from Ferdinand and went to sit with her girlfriend, trading a kiss and the cup of red spices to her, Marianne enjoying the warmth of both.

Claude followed, taking up a seat next to Hilda, and fought down a fond smile as he watched the duo. Hilda was an energetic choice for a rock to cling to, but Marianne appreciated her presence, the terrible despair that swirled around her like a cold wind lessened near Hilda; and Hilda seemed to realize what a precious thing that was, and treasured it appropriately.

A strange couple... but everything about the Deer was strange. Even Marianne's choice of drink was weird. The quiet woman, whose spellwork was all ice and frost, had the most brutally inclined palate of all the Deer; her favored tea was a spicy, almost blistering concoction, the cinnamon blend lending it a high heat. It amused Claude that a drink he mostly associated with masochists was Marianne's favorite...

They were all like that, his Deer; strange people. All the Deer were weirdos, freaks...

Outsiders, like himself.

( Maybe that was why he had this... _dangerous_ inclination to open up to them, to let them inside, to see him as he really was. A fantasy; they were uncomfortable even acknowledging his Almyran nature, something his darker skin made public knowledge. Knowing more truth would make it worse; but still the fantasy, lingering there as a pleasant dream.)

Shaking it off, Claude took a long drink of his chamomile, then put his cup down on Byleth's desk. Leonie, seeing everyone was ready, finally left Byleth's side, grabbing her own cup of Angelica, and taking up a seat before Mercedes. Byleth finished whatever she was writing, and put it in one last envelope, sealing it up- with difficulty, given her arm- and laying it with the others.

“ So, Teach,” Claude said. “ We're all here, and we've all been fortified with tea by our local drinkmongers, so lay it on us.”

“ Drinkmonger?” Lorenz protested behind him, joined by Ferdinand as the duo came up to sit before Byleth; the group ignored them. “ That's not a word!”

“ Okay,” Byleth began, and her quiet tones held something... worried, the faintest twinge of trepidation. “ Let's... well, let's review. I told you about the resets; about... averting your deaths. Sothis- the girl in my head- she had me write the letters here. She wanted to... to lay out all her thoughts at once like this. We can talk after you've read them; but there's something more I have to reveal to you. But we'll- no, sorry, I'm skipping ahead, she's yelling at me for doing this wrong.”

“ That must get annoying,” Lysithea said. “ Having an internal critic.”

Byleth shrugged. “ I kind of like her,” she said. “ She makes life more interesting, at least. And she's usually right; I was getting off-track.”

She leaned forward, picking up the stack of letters- a bit awkwardly, given that her arm was still wounded from where the monster Miklan had become wounded her. “ Here's everyone envelopes,” Byleth said, and began passing them around. “ Read these first, then we'll talk. I'll just say her answers after this, no need to write them down... but she wanted me to write down her thoughts about all of you first. She's wanted to talk with you guys for a while, but we didn't want to tell anyone about her... but now that you know about her, well. Here.”

Claude's was first. Claude received his envelope with outward amusement and inward trepidation. So much was going on here at Garreg Mach- emperors of flame, Rhea's secrets, Byleth and the Sword and this ghost in her skull- so much he wanted to _know,_ and this letter might answer all his questions. He'd been stumbling in the dark, and he _knew_ there were predators in that darkness... but this might shed a light on everything.

Still, he examined it before opening it. On the outside of the envelope, around his name in Byleth's scattered handwriting, there were... drawings? Colored, even. Acanthus flowers and black-eyed susans, bittersweets and rose of damask... swarms of white zinnias, and a few sprigs of holly entwined around a crown of roses... and all drawn... beautifully.

“ What's with the flowers, Teach?” Claude asked, a quick glance confirming that other envelopes had similar drawings- a flash of coreopsis and dill on Raphael's paper, purple hyacinths and yellow jasmine on Mercedes'.

“ She said... she said it mattered,” Byleth said with a shrug. “ She didn't know why. Had me draw them.”

( Sothis, almost knowing what she was, dreaming strange dreams in Byleth's skull, dreams of flowers dipped in blood- what was it, that she almost knew?)

“ These are excellent,” Ignatz said. “ Where'd you learn to draw like this?”

“ Long breaks on campaign,” Byleth replied. “ Drawing maps taught me how to draw the natural world... sketching plants and trees kept me sharp. Can't paint, but I'm decent with a pencil.”

Ignatz nodded, returning to look at the single dahlia on his envelope, around which was entwined edelweiss and calla lillies.

“ I... really?” Lorenz said, as he examined his own. “ I'm touched, Professor.”

“ What do you mean?” Claude said, still looking at his own envelope. “ Her note to you friendly?”

“ I have not read it yet,” Lorenz said. “ But this... these flowers... in the language of flowers, this is quite an elegant piece. Lotus flowers, mistletoe, chamomiles and coriander- enlightenment and wisdom, surmounting difficulties, patience in adversity and hidden worth, in that order. Taken all together... through enlightenment, surmount your difficulties, be patient as you do so, and you shall unveil the worth inside you that is so far hidden. It's a rather lovely sentiment.”

“ Flower language?” Claude said, turning to look at Lorenz and quirking an eyebrow. What Fodlan bullshit was this?

Byleth, meanwhile, had an odd look on her face, as if she were listening to someone intently... which was probably exactly what she was doing. _What the hell happened to my life that Teach talking to a ghost only she can see is normal?_ Claude had time to wonder.

“ It's a noble way to communicate through floral arrangements,” Lorenz said. “ An Adrestian custom, if I'm not wrong, but supposedly it's older than that.”

“ It is,” Ferdinand commented. “ The art has been lost in Faerghus but the Alliance and the Empire both still practice it.”

“ Oh, hey!” Hilda said. “ I know how to read flower language! So...”

She studied her envelope, then smiled at Byleth. “ Aww, Teach, you're so sweet! Err, well, I guess Sothis is the sweet one.”

“ Teach?” Marianne said. Hilda grinned.

“ Claude got me doing it,” she said, and Claude shot her a thumbs up, which she returned.

“ What do your flowers say?” Marianne asked.

“ Eh, Teach just has a really biased opinion of me,” Hilda said, waving a hand in the air. “ It's all... loyalty stuff. Hollies for defense and protection- though those can also be for domestic happiness- an iris for close friendships, faith and valor, blue hyacinths for constancy, and just... over a dozen violets around a dried white rose? _Really_?”

“ What do violets mean?” Marianne asked. “ And a... dried white rose?”

“ Loyalty. Devotion, faithfulness, modesty,” Hilda said, then winked at Teach. “ I'm really not that impressive, Teach. That's the violets, anyway- and they're _blue_ , which makes them even harder on the loyalty thing, adds an element of watchfulness to it. A dozen flowers makes a bouquet, which in the language means it's the central piece of the whole sentence- and having it wrapped around something means that the thing they're wrapped around is even _more_ central, is the point.”

She sighed. “ And I gotta admit, I'm confused by it- a dried white rose means, well, death before dishonor, effectively. Death is preferable to loss of virtue, to be more specific. Traditionally it's associated with loyal knights, who would rather die than fail their king.”

She shook her head. “ I'm really not that loyal. Or that dependable. I wouldn't die for anyone, that's for certain!”

Claude almost said something snarky in agreement, but a memory stopped him.

( The Tomb, he was huddled behind Hilda as her shield stopped the enemy, downing a quick drink of elixir to heal his wounds before he had to move again; Hilda, always at his side.)

After a moment, thinking it over, Claude said instead, “ No, I can see it.”

Hilda shot him an unreadable glance- approval? Disappointment? Surprise?- and he carried on, past the uncomfortable moment.

( Somewhere inside, Hilda filed that away, that Claude thought of her so highly, something solid from which she might draw strength, in time.)

“ So what does mine mean?” he asked, showing Hilda the paper.

“ Let's see,” Hilda said, a little too brightly, unspoken acknowledgment of the awkward moment. “ Acanthus is deceit and artifice, but like, in the friendly sense? Acanthus is deception as... what'd they call it- 'the fine art.' When trickery is impressive, kind of cool, like if a daring thief robs you in such an impressive way that you're not even mad at him later? That's acanthus. It's deception, but not just lying- it's cleverness and brilliance in it.”

Claude considered that, then smirked. “ Okay, that's a fair cop; I'm a schemer.”

Hilda nodded before continuing. “ Now, black-eyed susans- justice. Simplest and most direct meaning here. Justice. Bittersweets for... truth? That's weird to see next to acanthus- and there's more bittersweets than there are acanthus, so that's more important. Truth and justice and daring trickery- heh, she's got you sounding like a fairytale hero, Claude.”

“ That's not so bad,” he said, putting on a smug face... though inside, a storm stirred. Those were... fine things, yes indeed.

( _A man should be judged based on who he is, not what. No one should be left outside the doors of society for reasons outside their own doing._ Those were Claude's ideals; what else could you call them, but truth and justice?)

“ And white zinnias! She's really laying it on thick. White zinnias stand for just goodness, you know. White zinnias are the best flower, in my opinion, they mean someone who's just... good. Wow, her headghost is like, _super_ impressed with you.”

“ Well, this is awkward,” Claude admitted, and the group shared a laugh. “ Sothis got a crush on me, Teach?”

Byleth grinned, a tiny thing that barely changed her mouth. “ She's ranting about you right now, actually. Something about how you're a real letdown to yourself, and if she had a body she'd hug you, then slap you across the jaw.”

Claude snorted as Hilda kept examining the card.

“ Damask rose- oho!” Hilda crowed. “ Now that's pretty funny, actually, your head-ghost has a sense of humor, Byleth.”

“ Oh?” Byleth said.

“ That's a flower for foreign love,” Hilda said. “ It's the Almyran ambassador of love... but without the usual indicators of being in love... I think the Sothis in Byleth's head has noticed your little playdates with a certain princess~”

Claude rolled his eyes, though inside his heart hammered. Almyran... shit. It was obvious to anyone with eyes what his heritage was, skin too dark for Fodlan, but still... the Deer danced lightly around it, didn't talk about it, and he didn't like the open acknowledgment.

Hilda carried on, sensing his disquiet and moving to shield him, as she always did. “ Holly and a crown of roses... ooh! Holly for foresight- wisdom in seeing the future- but the crown is more interesting. A crown of roses can mean 'beware of virtue' but that's usually used as an enticement for a lover to come give you the business, and not be afraid of the consequences, which clearly isn't what this is going for. The other meaning is... symbol of superior merit. Greatness, in short.”

“ Claude is not that great,” Lorenz said from the back of the room, a bit miffed.

“ I hate agreeing with Lorenz, but he's right,” Claude said. “ All this seems a bit... much.”

Hilda shrugged as she gave the envelope back to him. “ You should probably read the note. This is either an epic setup for an insult or she's about to declare undying love for you.”

“ What flower is that?” Claude asked as he delicately opened the beautiful envelope, careful not to damage the drawings.

“ Most would say a rose,” Lorenz answered haughtily. “ But that's not completely correct. A red rose just means 'I love you.' For love without end, love eternal... that would be an orange blossom.”

“ Which fits,” Ferdinand opined. “ Unlike a rose, you can eat oranges; and love like that, it is food for the soul, something sacred. An orange blossom, which not only smells sweet, but comes from a tree with practical usage, too- yes, a fine flower for love everlasting.”

“ You nobles are weird,” Leonie opined, as she opened her envelope, which was decorated with nasturtium and palm leaves, topped with a bouquet of sweet williams. Claude wondered what those meant as he tugged his paper out, and why Sothis insisted she knew nothing of the language of flowers even as she apparently decorated their envelopes with intricate messages written in that tongue. “ Who writes with flowers?”

“ Someone who had a secret message to send,” Ferdinand said. “ That's how it started. We know them well now, but when it started, it was a way to communicate in secret.”

Leonie pondered that a moment. “ Okay, I get that,” she said, appraising her envelope in a new light. “ Wonder what this means.”

“ Let me see,” Lorenz said, Leonie handing it to him as Claude read his letter, Sothis' words in Byleth's handwriting.

_Claude von Riegan, you keep too much of yourself back! You are wise and good, and you do not see it. I am tired of it! You are not doing all you can. You are capable of so much, and I see so few humans who_ are _capable, it makes me sick to see you failing when you could be so victorious! Now is the time to get moving, Claude!_

_Tell your secrets to your Deer, and hear their secrets in turn. If you keep these secrets, you will all die. Reveal them, and you will accomplish great things, things you cannot even imagine as you are right now, but that you will become capable of if you just_ _ trust. _ _They are worthy, Claude. And you are worthy- worthy of love, worthy of being trusted._

_I don't know as much as I should, but I know this- you are lord of the House of Chaos. That is a high and lofty title to live up to- Chaos, one of the greatest, most fundamental forces in all existence. Chaos, which is equal to divinity- you have chosen a powerful force to take the name of! It's a high bar to clear. You have much to live up to._

_But you are of such a stature that you can do it._ _You are worthy, Claude- trust me. I've seen a lot of humans, and few like you or your fellow Deer. I believe in you. You are a hurricane in human form, Claude, you are the wind that rises above all things, and your Deer are the good earth from which all life springs; trust them, as they trust you, and lead them to greatness._

_Now, prove me right! Stop failing yourself! You_ _are capable of so much more than this! Off your ass, little one!_

Well, that... that was a lot more direct than Claude had expected. He had the distinct sensation of being slapped very gently with a silk handkerchief by his grandma, which was an odd feeling to be distinct about- but here he was.

But the command- trust them? Did this little shit of a ghost even _know_ what she was asking of him? He pursed his lips into a frown.

As he finished, Marianne made a strangled noise and shot up out of her seat, leaving her envelope to flutter down to the floor, its surface awash with dark crimson roses, red poppies, dead leaves and, curiously, a bouquet of thyme.

Marianne nearly ran, heading to the room's far corner, opposite the Tea Shop, where more of Leonie's war preparations sat. The noble lady's shoulders jerked as she tried to cry quietly, and mostly failed; Hilda went after her, her own envelope forgotten as well.

“ Wonder what hers had,” Leonie said, but quietly; even Leonie could be circumspect, especially where the Deer's most broken Doe was involved. She turned hard eyes on Byleth. “ Poor thing, your headghost better have been nice to her, Byleth.”

“ I... thought she was,” Byleth answered, as Lorenz tapped Leonie.

“ Apologies for interrupting,” he said, “ but I have your meaning, if you wish to hear it.”

“ Sure,” Leonie said, taking her envelope back, grateful to have something to focus on that wasn't weeping Marianne- though she shot Byleth another glower first.

“ Yours means victory,” Lorenz said. “ Victory, glory- conquest... and the bouquet means gallantry. It's a fair statement of your noble-like ability in battle, Leonie.”

“ Really?” Leonie said. “ That ain't so bad.”

“ Not at all,” Lorenz agreed, then glanced over at Marianne. “ I do hope she's alright.”

-

“ What did that bitch say to you?” Hilda growled, as she stood next to her lover. Marianne simply shook her head, eyes full of tears, and held the note out to Hilda, who grabbed it and read it quickly, eyes widening.

_Gentle Marianne, know that you have my deepest respect. You have so much pain inside you, but still you stand, still you wake up, every day. You have an impossible strength inside you, Marianne, and I am proud to know you._

_I do not know why you suffer, but I do know this. I am ancient, and have seen much; I am a fair judge of humans. And you, Marianne, you belong here, no less than the animals you love. You have a right to be here, and should never,_ _ ever _ _doubt it._

_Talk to us, when you hurt. We love you. Byleth worries about you, as do I, as do all the Deer; you are among friends here, this is family, if you will let us be. You are not alone in your struggle; we are here. Deer gather in a Herd for protection, little one. Let them protect you, as you protect them; wounds are not always physical, but shields are not always made of metal, either. Tell us of your secret pain, that we may help lift your burden, and send its ashes scattering into the breeze._

_We love you, Marianne. You are safe with us. Tell them your secret, and do not be afraid._

Hilda looked at the note, then at Byleth- at the being inside- then back at her sweet girl, who tried to strangle her sobs, Marianne herself not sure why she was crying, save for shock alone, perhaps.

“ Hilda, if you need us to leave, we can,” Ferdinand offered quietly from behind them.

“ It's fine,” Marianne whispered to Hilda. “ It's fine, I just... I need a minute.”

“ It's ok,” Hilda said to him before, more quietly, putting an arm around her woman. Marianne had reached the ugly part of crying, and needed something for her nose and eyes; Hilda checked her pockets- where was her handkerchief...

“ I've got one,” Ferdinand said, and moved to hold it out to her, an expensive thing in fine Adrestian red. Hilda took it gratefully, and Marianne pressed it to her crying eyes, blew her nose. After a few deep breaths, Marianne calmed, then looked at the ruin she'd left of Ferdinand's kindness.

“ Sorry,” she said, turning around. “ I... your handkerchief...”

“ It's fine,” Ferdinand said, producing another one and taking the first from the bluenette, wrapping it up gently in the second one so he could clean it later. “ They exist so they can be made messy, and keep other things clean; it's an important job.”

Marianne nodded and returned to her seat, Hilda holding her hand, which she squeezed tight for comfort.

-

“ Has everyone read theirs?” Byleth asked, after Marianne returned, the Deer's faces a constellation of emotions. Leonie and Lorenz were carefully thoughtful, their letters telling them that the barriers to the success they both sought were all found inside their own souls _(Leonie and Lorenz, you are just like each other_ , their letters mused; _you are your own worst enemies. Perhaps you should help each other out; you are mighty foes, and you should not face yourselves alone.)_

Ferdinand and Raphael were amused, their letters gently mocking but mostly supportive, and their commands easy tasks. Raphael was ordered to keep his friends stable ( _it is a shame that such a delicate task falls on your brutish soldiers, oh mighty Beast of Leceister; but then again, perhaps only you are strong enough to bear up under this terrible task.)_ Ferdinand's, meanwhile, told of his potential, and how to reach it, leaving him feeling rather good about himself ( _you are not the man you think you are, Ferdinand, but if you listen to everyone around you, and heed their advice, you will be._ )

But the rest... the rest were worried, or pensive, for most of the letters had the same task inside.

( _Reveal your secrets._ )

To the surprise of everyone, it was Mercedes who spoke up first- and in _anger._

“ Your ghost is a _bitch_ , Byleth.”

The entire group wheeled on that; even Marianne forgot her sorrows for a second, hearing their sweet Mercedes' wrath.

“ I... what?” Byleth said, blinking.

“ Reveal my secret? Yes, of course, because it's that _simple,”_ Mercedes spat, sarcasm heavy in the healer's tones. “ This is... this _hurts_ me, you sanctimonious little shit! It is no little thing you ask of me. Dress it up in whatever language you want, you're asking me to bare my heart to everyone here. I do not _want_ to do that, if I _did,_ I'd have done it already! My secret _hurts_ me, Sothis, you have no right to ask me to reveal it!”

Byleth, carefully, said, “ She... she says... she says that it will never _stop_ hurting you until you talk about it, Mercedes. She accepts your anger; but she begs you to reveal it, anyway.”

“ My letter asked me to reveal my secret, too,” Lysithea said. “ I bet everyone's did, right? Save for those of us with no secrets, like Raphael.”

“ Yeah, mine didn't say anything about secrets,” the big man said, shrugging. “ But- if you guys _have_ secrets- that's none of my business, unless you just want to talk about them.”

Lysithea favored the big man with a smile- big and simple, but not _stupid_ , as his words proved.

“ Thank you,” she said, before turning back to Byleth. “ Why is Sothis so interested in this?”

Byleth sighed, rubbed at her temples. “ I... ok. A moment, please.”

The Deer quieted down. Mercedes' glower was... unsettling, she was usually so _nice_. Claude shook his head. What the hell was her secret?

( Admittedly, Claude felt a bit silly wondering about other people's secrets like this- he doubted any of them were secretly the heir to a foreign throne, like he was- but he was curious, always curious.)

“ There is one more secret I can tell you,” Byleth said. “ Not the end of my secrets, apparently; but I can't tell you the answers to the rest of them. These are secrets I didn't even know I had... the secret of Sothis, whatever she is, be she ghost or the Goddess Herself... the Sword... none of these are things I can give you answers to. But I do have one more secret I know about, and now I'll share it with you, so you understand _why_ I ask this terrible thing of you.”

She looked and sounded... regretful, for a moment, not any particular change in her face or voice, but something the Deer alone- and Jeralt- would be able to see, a small tightening of the eyes, the way her lips pulled down, a small lowering of tone.

“ It's a horrible thing, what I'm about to reveal. It will haunt you- it haunts _me._ I... I pray that I am merely insane. If I am crazy, if Sothis and all I see is just a cluster of my brain in open revolt against reality... than I will be so _grateful,_ that the problem exists only in me, and there is no truth to what I am about to say. What I am about to tell you will change your lives, and not for the better; it is knowledge that will sit like a stone within you. I am so sorry to give this to you; not all knowledge is freeing. Some knowledge is a curse.”

She paused again, and Claude would accuse her of dramatic effect, save that Byleth wasn't socially capable enough for that. It didn't stop the shiver that ran down his spine; the idea of knowledge he _didn't_ want to have was anathema to Claude, but Byleth's dead tones made him wonder if she wasn't telling the truth. What the hell was she about to say...? He reached for the last of his drink; soothing chamomile sounded good right now.

Before she could continue, there was a loud knock at the door, which made everyone jump. Claude would not deny that he would have screamed in sheer surprise, except he was taking a drink at the time; so instead, he choked, and got chamomile all over the corner of Byleth's desk, hacking and coughing. Mercedes cursed ( _fuck!_ ), Lysithea screamed and had a spell ready to blast whatever was at the door, and Leonie's hand went to her dagger on reflex.

“ Mother of- holy shit,” Hilda breathed, as she gave Claude two hard whacks on the back. “ Would somebody get the door? Not me, I'm too busy trying not to shit myself.”

“ I've got it,” Ignatz said. He was the most frightened of the Deer, most of the time, since his gentle soul wasn't particularly appreciative of combat; but the upswing was that he was used to being scared, so he was the fastest to recover from sudden surprises like this.

He went up to the door and, with just a little hesitation, unlocked it and opened up.

“ Ah, hello,” Seteth said, as the door opened. “ Is Professor Eisner available?”

“ Oh, sure,” Ignatz said. “ Do you need to talk with her?”

Claude, recovering from his coughing fit, palmed his envelope and note, and prayed the other Deer had sense enough to do the same.

“ No,” Seteth said. “ The Archbishop wanted me to deliver this to her- she wishes to have tea with the Professor later today. If you would give this to her, I'd be most grateful.”

“ Of course,” Ignatz said, taking the small paper from the priest.

( Normally Seteth would see it was delivered personally... but he did not trust this new professor, and was eager to wash his hands of the whole affair.)

“ If that's all, I'll be taking my leave,” Seteth said. “ Good day.”

“ Good day to you too, sir!” Ignatz said, and when the priest left, he shut and locked the door again.

“ Okay,” Claude said, as he hobbled over to one of Leonie's supply piles and grabbed a clean cloth, “ Seteth's timing is _killer_.”

Nervous, tense laughter broke out, Claude quickly wiping down Byleth's desk.

“ Sorry for the mess, Teach,” he said, as Ignatz returned to his seat, handing Byleth her invitation.

“ It's alright,” she said, awkwardly holding the letter- clearly trying to figure out how to open it with one hand- before Leonie took pity on her and assisted her rival, slicing the small envelope open and handing her the delicate paper inside. “ Huh, tea with Rhea... later. This first.”

Claude wondered about that- tea with the Archbishop- but put it aside. The business at hand first.

“ You were talking of... some terrible truth,” he said, and Byleth nodded, putting the paper down, the invitation tabled for now.

“ When I was asleep- the night before we met, Claude- I dreamed of the future. I dreamed of three roads... a road of blue, a road of red, and a road of gold. I didn't know what they meant, not until I stood before Rhea and she asked me which class to teach; I had a choice, then, and I knew it was going to decide so _much..._ blue road for Lions and red road for Eagles did I look down in my dream, Claude. Before I ever met you, or Edelgard or Dimitri, I dreamed, and... and oh, Goddess.”

She paused, took a breath, loud as thunder in the room's sudden silence.

“ I don't want to tell you this,” she said, and her voice _trembled_ , just for a second. “ But you have to know.”

“ Down the blue road and the red road, I saw atrocities. I saw... I saw _war._ Different, in both; but the same war, do you understand? The same war, playing out differently... and always, always _horribly_ so.”

“ A great city, set on fire by its defenders. There is a city on fire and families huddle together in their homes, they can't escape, they hug each other one last time before they are reduced to ash, their homes burning around them. There is a place where the innocent are dragged before men in masks and they put a stone in their forehead, and they grow and warp and twist until even the devil must put a mask on their faces, and then the beast made out of a person is sent to the frontlines to kill and die in turn. There are fields of corpses, my students, the dead lay three feet deep and there are two children dancing in those fields; he gave her a knife and she loved him and now they will dance and everyone will die.”

_What vision of hell is this?_ Claude wondered, but she didn't stop, she kept barreling on, a rolling stone of revelation, the cold and dead-eyed woman's voice... _terrified_ , it had a quaver they had never heard before in their Professor, and it chilled them to their bones, to hear the fear in her voice as she spoke her prophecies.

“ They circle each other, hand in hand; cold ghosts touch his face and slithering things whisper in her ears and they dance, and everywhere they dance, death follows. There is a place where a nation was born, and where nations will go to die, friends will tear out each other's hearts and kin will murder kin. The dead are dishonored, corpses exhumed by those left starving in the war's wake, and the living will eat the dead to stay alive, they will take their fathers and mothers into their teeth and tear them apart. Plague will spread, there are too many bodies, they can't bury them all and deadly things will blossom in their broken guts and sweep across the continent, pox and pestilence and boils on every face. Villages will be driven into the wilderness by enemy action and the monsters will rise up, the soldiers are too busy killing each other to kill the beasts, and they will grow fat on innocent flesh, red maws and red beaks and red feasts.”

“ It goes on and on and on, this is not a war of one year or two but longer, it... it doesn't _end_ , it never _ends_. A woman rots on the inside and spreads cold wings and dies crying out for her mother... an entire nation lost, a people murdered, an act of murder that is taking centuries to finish. There is a woman smiling in the west, and her teeth are tombstones... and when she smiles rivers of blood pour out of the cracks between her teeth. She _scares_ me, children, and I do not even know her name; but I saw the names of her victims written in her eyes, and the list never _ended_.”

Byleth paused, swayed where she sat.

“ I can't stop seeing it,” she admitted quietly. “ I put it out of mind, most days. I... I focus on other things. But... it's always there. What I saw, down the blue road and the red road.”

Claude swallowed against a suddenly-dry throat, and was not alone in his stunned silence. Whatever he'd expected her to say, this vision of... _apocalypse_ was not it. A key and an answer it was, but this one burned in the hand- what in the world...?

“ I... what?” he managed.

“ It's why I'm pushing you so hard,” Byleth admitted. “ The war- I want you to live- I have to make legends out of you, if martial skill can save your lives then I am determined that it will. You... you are all so very _precious_ to me. You're... you're not just students, you're my first _friends_. I'm a freak, but none of you care... you're the only people who _don't_ care. I want you to live.”

She sighed.

Ferdinand found his voice first. “ What you saw... was down the blue and red roads. What did you see down the golden road?”

“ Nothing,” Byleth said. “ This road is made of gold, and it blinded me. Chaos- chance- even divine eyes don't know what it's going to do. I chose this road because I _didn't_ know what was down it. I have to hope that it's better. I don't even know if the war will happen at all... especially now.”

“ Especially now?” Claude asked. She nodded her head.

“ Something's... different. Between my waking that night, and the day I stood before Rhea, something... changed. Sothis feels it more than I do... but in the woods, when we first met... something changed all the roads. I think... I think it was _you_ , Claude. You feel... different, you have weight to you, a stone in time's river that diverts it down a new path.”

“ Me?” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “ How in the world could I have diverted this?”

Everyone was leaning forward now, tea forgotten, focused on their teacher, eyes hard.

“ I don't know,” she said. “ I just... if time is a river, you've pushed it onto a new course. This is not... I hear words, names. Not sure why. Verdant wind and crimson flowers and azure moons and silver snows, and I think they're the names of other rivers, other tributaries... but _none_ of that is going to happen now. Things _like_ them might happen, but it won't... it won't _quite_ be that. You've changed it. We're somewhere else now, down a different path.”

“ I can't think of what I did,” Claude said, thinking it over... but then an idea occurred to him. “ Unless... I ran away, when the bandits attacked. I... maybe I was supposed to die...”

( Just like he was supposed to die to the assassin, save that Byleth rescued him... was that the truth? Had he dodged the reaper once already and made him mad, was _that_ why he kept having these near-death experiences?)

“ Maybe,” Byleth said. “ Or maybe in running away- because Dimitri and Edelgard came with you- maybe one of them was supposed to die, and you saved their lives, and changed all this. Whatever it is you did... well, it changed things.”

Claude nodded his head... and then thought of Edelgard, before Kostas, and his leap to save her. Was that what he'd changed? He actually liked that idea- maybe saving that wonderful girl was the thing that changed the future. It pleased the romantic in him; it felt like the dreams of the Almyran poetry he liked, which lionized romance and heroism both, and how nice would it be, to save a girl you liked, and in doing so, save the world?

As he thought, the Deer's male Adrestian spoke.

“ You said you saw war down two paths,” Ferdinand said. “ But now all that is different... and you never could see what was down this road.”

“ Correct,” Byleth said. “ If I'm not just crazy- and I hope I am, I hope this is nothing more than some sickness in my skull- then... then the knowledge I have is outdated.”

“ Why aren't you having new visions?” Raphael asked. “ I mean, if you saw some shit once, why not again?”

“ Sothis thinks it's because the world's in too much flux,” she replied. “ Before, things were... inevitable... until Claude did whatever he did, the world's paths were fairly fixed, only small variations allowed. But now... now too much hangs on too many decisions. Until paths are settled again, the future is unknown...”

“ Which doesn't mean the war won't happen,” Marianne said, ever the pessimist. “ It might even be worse.”

“ Yes,” Byleth said. “ That's why I've been training you so hard. Maybe the war doesn't happen at all, but... maybe it does. I... I don't want you to die.”

“ So what does this mean for our secrets?” Mercedes said, the Adrestian-born woman thinking it over. “ What... do our secrets mean, in the face of all this?”

“ Nothing,” Byleth said. “ Everything. We need to come together. Unity... unity is the only thing we have... each other is all we have. Our secrets... they'll kill us, if we can't overcome them. There are so many secrets around us already. Who the Flame Emperor is... why I have the Sword of the Creator... why Sothis is in me at all... why the war will happen, if it is going to happen. So much we don't know. Everything that we know improves our chances of surviving this, and I... I would die, a hundred times, to save any of you. You _matter_ to me.”

She put her hands down and looked at them, her precious students, her very first friends.

“ I... I'm so sorry. I _know_ this is horribly cruel. Not just asking you to tell me all your secrets... but to drop this knowledge on you. It's coming. Soon. Within the year, that's fairly consistent. And it'll last and last and last. We need to try to fix this before it starts, but I know how heavy this knowledge is... and now I put that burden on you, too.”

Quietly, she said, “ I'm sorry.”

A single drop of moisture, not even large enough to call a tear, at the edge of one of Byleth's eyes, gleaming gently.

“ Now you know every secret I know,” Byleth said. “ I beg you... tell me your own. Sothis and I... we know that some of you are hiding things... but we don't know what they are. Just... vague ideas, impressions of things.”

Mercedes sighed.

“ I... I apologize for my words, Sothis, Byleth. I didn't... I didn't know... but even now that I know, this hurts me, Sothis. My secret is big.”

“ So's mine. My secret is big, and it hurts, too,” Marianne said... and thought of the words of a woman she had never met, that called her strong.

_No one thinks of me as strong_ , Marianne's despair said first... but then her truth spoke, as she looked at her fellow Deer, and remembered the battles they'd been through together. _Lorenz called me a beauty, once, perfect as I was... and thanked me for being such an excellent healer. My blood raged in the Tomb and saved lives... even my blood, that I hate so much, has helped them. Lysithea calling my spellwork masterful..._

A coin, flipping in her skull, saying that she had a choice.

_Goddess, let me choose well_ , Marianne thought... and that thought sparked another. _The Sword... Byleth has the Sword... was she chosen to avert this? Her visions- a ghost in her head named after the Goddess. Is she... holy? Holy and chosen... and she said that she did not know what lay down the golden road, that Claude had already changed the future. Are..._ _we_ _chosen? Sacred? Were we picked to bear this burden?_

“ I... I don't even know where to begin with mine,” Lysithea admitted, as Marianne wrestled with her fear and her thoughts both, the gentle lady's hand tightening in Hilda's, the two having sought each other's hands out as Byleth gave them her terrible prophecy for comfort.

_If we were... the Goddess makes no mistakes, said Lorenz. I think he's wrong- I think I'm one of Her mistakes- but what if I'm wrong? What if the Goddess makes no mistakes, and I am not one either... what if... what if Byleth's right? Then the Goddess has given us a task..._

Hilda was the only person looking at Marianne, and so she alone saw her face transform, saw the tearful visage shift into something hard as stone, saw the exact second in which Marianne made her choice.

Marianne stood up, taller than she ever had, tall as a mountain, all eyes falling on her, and the sharp, wakeful visage she wore.

“ I'll go first,” Marianne said, and her quiet voice held no doubt.

“ I- what?” Mercedes said, at the same time as Byleth, turning to her, said “ What?”

“ My secret,” Marianne said, Hilda looking at her with eyes wide- but Marianne just squeezed her hand. This had to be done.

“ Why? You don't have to talk,” Lysithea said. “ We can keep our secrets...”

“ After all this?” Marianne said, shaking her head at the dark mage. “ Lysithea... we _should_ share our secrets. I fled because my letter... my letter told me I was strong, and that I belonged here... and nobody's ever told me I was strong before- except Hilda... and all of you, my fellow Deer.”

She turned to her professor, and gave her the strongest smile she could, a watery thing that belied her hurting heart... but still she smiled, her despair could not take that victory from her. “ I... I believe in you, Byleth. I believe you are telling the truth, you and your guest both.”

Byleth favored her with the twinge of her lips that made up her smile. “ Thank you, Marianne.”

Marianne nodded, then turned her head back to the others. “ We've already been through so much. The Tomb, we were _there,_ in that sacred place, when Byleth received her holy Sword, where we ourselves were made holy, fighting in defense of the Church and the Goddess. And now the Flame Emperor moves against the school, has already damaged it... and this war... this is on us, to change it. Do you think this an accident? Down the blue road and the red road both was death... but we are the golden road. We can _change_ this!”

They stared at her, her fellow Deer, at Marianne, who _hated_ talking to others- but who was now preaching, who was giving them a sermon, and didn't it fit? House of Chaos, after all- the house of sacred contradiction.

“ Yes, this will hurt. But it will hurt less than what Byleth speaks of. There is war and death coming- but _we can stop it._ Byleth would not be given these visions if it were not possible to avert them. We can _stop_ this! The Goddess puts a task before us, and I will not fail her. Neither will any of you. Claude has already changed the future once, and he didn't even meant to! Take faith. Take heart. We are holy, we are sacred, we were _chosen_ for this. We alone can change the future.”

She wavered where she stood. This was more than she had said in all her life... but faith was the bedrock of her soul, and she leaned on it.

“ We will be _better_ for saying it. I will trust you, as you trust me... Byleth is not the only one who has had no friends, before this.”

She nodded to them.

“ I don't say it, but... you are my friends.”

( _Will they be friends with you, when they know the truth?_ A whisper, from the depression that lingered under her skin... but Marianne did not listen to it. There was another voice, a voice of love, of friendship, that said _trust them_ ; and Marianne, for the first time in her life, chose something other than her fear, the coin of choice flipped insider her skull and she stopped choosing tails, for once. Chaos is the power to be free... and to make your own choices.)

She licked her lips for a second's more time, and then, like the last breath of a corpse, exhaled her terrible truth.

“ I bear the Crest of the Beast,” Marianne said. “ It is a cursed Crest that causes misfortune to those around the bearer. I have been chased all my life by scholars who worry that I will be turning into a monster at some point- my family are country nobility, and we hide away our marks. My father... my real father... he went... missing. As did my mother. And our Crest is to blame. Lord Edmund did me a kindness in adopting me... he asked me not to reveal it to anyone, for fear of backlash. Church records do not reflect fondly on those like me who bear the mark.”

“ That is my secret.”

They stared at her long enough for the nerves to come back... but Hilda's hand never left hers, and finally it was her love who spoke.

“ Marianne...” Hilda breathed quietly. “ I didn't know...”

“ That's how secrets work,” Marianne said, and maybe she meant it as a joke, but it came out flat and dead.

Lysithea snorted. “ They're fools,” she said. “ How can your Crest bring misfortune? That's stupid.”

“ I can't claim to know anything about your Crest,” Lorenz offered, “ but Crests are almost universally a boon to their bearer. I'm sure it's mere superstition to claim a Crest could hurt its user.”

“ And even if it's true,” Claude said, sensing an opportunity, “ You've never been anything but a blessing, Marianne. We all owe you our lives.”

He smiled at her- gave her a _real_ smile, not one of his patented false ones- and she looked at the Deer, who looked at her with concern, worry, support... but no fear, no hate.

“ I think Marianne's great,” Raphael said. “ Shit, ain't one of us that hasn't been healed by you, right? So you're no... curse or whatever.”

“ Hear, hear!” Ferdinand said.

“ Saved my life,” Mercedes said, remembering Marianne's rage, that saved their lives with a thrown pike.

“ Saved mine, too,” Hilda said, at her side.

Marianne, overwhelmed, sat down, and pressed tight to Hilda's side, trying to shrink into her girlfriend's arm.

“ Thank you,” she said, voice thick.

After a moment, Mercedes very dramatically shifted, calling attention to herself- and off sweet Marianne, a deliberate action the bluenette appreciated.

“ ...I... confess to feeling stupid, after hearing that,” Mercedes admitted, sighing. “ My secret feels almost... small, compared to that.”

“ Everyone's secret feels huge inside them,” Ignatz offered. “ Only when you let it out can you see how big or small it really is.”

Mercedes gave her fellow glasses-wearer a smile for his wisdom, then turned her eyes down. “ I... I apologize again for my outburst, Sothis. Please, forgive me.”

“ Nothing to forgive,” Byleth said. “ We know what we're asking of you. We deserve _some_ yelling at.”

Mercedes nodded, then bucked up and stuck her courage to the sticking place.

“... When I was younger, me and my mother fled an abusive man... and left my little brother behind,” Mercedes said, voice distant as those memories. “ When I came here... I found him. He's... Jeritza. His real name is Emile. He... he won't talk to me...not as himself. I came to Byleth for help because Jeritza's interested in her due to her martial prowess... my brother... he's strange now.”

Mercedes sighed. “ That feels... so _small_ now that I've said it... but I've never forgiven myself for leaving him behind. That man was a monster. My brother... I wish we could have saved him back then. I'm determined to save him now, he seems... something's... off.”

“ We'll help,” Claude said. “ He can't avoid the whole House.”

“ Precisely,” Lorenz said. “ We'll assist. We can get the school to lean on him.”

“ We'll make it work,” Ferdinand promised her. Mercedes smiled.

“ We'll talk about that later,” she said. “ Who else?”

Claude almost spoke up, to his own surprise.

_Almost._

He... _wanted_ to... but some survival instinct stopped him. He... he _couldn't_. It had never worked before; and if he spoke it now, and the Deer rejected him too... he wouldn't be able to bear it. Not after this.

So he kept quiet, though Byleth kept her eyes on him.

Lysithea saved him, drawing in a shuddering breath.

“ If any of you pity me for what I am about to say,” she began, “ I will never forgive you. I... I don't even _want_ to talk about this... but if Marianne can be so brave, how can I do less? But... what I'm about to say... Ignatz, you said some secrets felt big on the inside? Well, what I'm about to say is big inside and outside both. And don't any of you pity me. Please, I am _begging_ you, and... and you know I don't beg. Don't... don't pity me for this. Don't hurt me more, after what I am about to say.”

“ You have my word,” Claude said, grateful for the distraction- and wondering what the hell _else_ he was going to learn today, which had proven to be so stuffed with revelation. He'd be days at this, figuring out how all this fit together.

“ When I was a child,” Lysithea began, and her eyes shone with unshed tears, “ masked mages took my family and put them under bright and endless light, and there they murdered them, so they could figure out how to carve a second Crest into my blood.”

She spoke more, after that. Ten long minutes, in which Mercedes put her hand to her mouth in mounting horror, in which Raphael wept, his tears utterly silent as they fell down his face, in which Lorenz begged her to stop, just a moment, while he threw up in one of the room's sole trashcans, apologizing all the while.

Ten long minutes, in which the impersonal, majestic horror of Byleth's vision had competition from Lysithea's mouth, of the personal, abject horror of dark cells, and terrible light, of a family murdered, of knives scraping her spine through her belly and the laughter of masked mages.

Of a woman, who touched her face gently with hands covered in her sibling's blood, whose mask resembled a bird- a shrike, one of those cruel songbirds who sang so beautifully, and spiked their prey on thorns, to die by inches.

“ The dual-Crests are drinking me dry,” Lysithea said. “ I was... I was supposed to be _big_. Catherine, she's a cousin of mine, if a bit distant... I was supposed to be _her_. Swords, they... they fit in my hand... I was supposed to...”

She trembled, shut her eyes and hugged herself tight.

“ I'm going to die soon,” Lysithea choked out. “ If I live to thirty, it'll be a miracle on par with Byleth's visions. But I won't see thirty-one. Do you see? That's why I'm... like I am. I don't _have_ tomorrow. I have today. The tests took my body and my... my looks... I'm not supposed to be this shriveled fucking thing! My hair's supposed to be black, for fuck's sake, not this... maggot-white. They even took my family's _bodies_ , I don't have my kin to bury, their coffins lay empty in their graves. I can't even get vengeance, I don't know where they went or even who they were!”

She opened her eyes, and they _blazed_ , her fury the only wind in her sails, as her arms returned to her sides.

“ But they didn't take my fucking _mind_. I'm going to make my mark on history, and I've got no time to do it... so I guess I'm in. You want to save the continent, avert the whole war? Yeah, that sounds like the kind of thing that's big enough for me. I'm with you, Byleth. Unless you're just crazy, I guess.”

She breathed out, slow.

“ Now none of you give me a damn drop of pity, I swear to the Goddess I'll slap you stupid if you do. I don't have time to be pitied... and I don't want it.”

“ Then you shall not have it,” Ferdinand said, standing up. He had cried too, silently as Raphael. “ But I pledge all my Houses' resources to finding your family's killers. I will write back home _today_. They cannot escape House Aegir. I will find them, and I will return your sibling's bodies to you, alongside the heads of everyone who participated in your violation.”

“ Don't you dare kill them, Ferdinand,” Lysithea said, turning to face him. “ I want them, if you find them. I want to turn these twin Crests they carved into me into knives and I want to drive them right into their bellies!”

Ferdinand nodded at that, as he produced a third handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “ Then when my House finds them, I will send word, and we will both hunt down your family's murderers. Together.”

“ Gloucester joins you,” Lorenz said. “ I'll write home as well. This... this _must_ be avenged.”

“ Goneril too,” Hilda said. “ Holst might come to find them _personally_ , this is horrifying.”

“ I'll write Margrave Edmund,” Marianne said quietly. “ See what he knows.”

“ I pledge Riegan to this,” Claude said. “ I'll send word to everyone I know... the Deer will be with you, Lysithea.”

Quiet affirmation rang around the room- even Ignatz, who hated violence, nodded his head, and his fingers clenched, wanting his bow- and more, wanting these mages for a target, who had done such abomination.

“ I didn't want pity,” Lysithea hissed.

“ This isn't pity,” Leonie snapped at her, tone hard. “ This is support, Lysithea.”

Raphael nodded to the fierce woman, but the giant was gentle with his next words. “ Look, losing your family- I know how much that hurts. My parents died when I was pretty young- I kinda had to raise Maya myself, you know? And you're a lot like her, you're tough and determined to do it all on you own... but we just want to help.”

She looked at the giant, at the tears on his resolute face.

“ You can accept help without being weak,” Raphael said softly, the way he had told it to Maya, who was so much like this tiny wildcat.

Lysithea wanted to buck... but she was exhausted, dealing with this had drained her of most of her strength, and... and she was no closer to killing them, or even _finding_ them, than she had ever been. If the Herd could get her vengeance, and return her siblings to her, so she could at least bury them, get some _closure_ for her pain...

“ I... you're right. Sorry. I have been... hasty. I accept all your help.”

“ Good,” Byleth said. “ Whoever finds a lead- report it to her. Lysithea is in charge of the hunt. And when time comes... we go on her command.”

Everyone nodded... and then it would be time for Claude to talk. To... reveal his secret.

... _No._

“ Well, that was emotional and taxing,” Claude said, clapping his hands together loudly. “ We have things to do- and I think you have a tea to get to, Teach.”

“ True,” she said- though she gave him an odd look. A bolt of regret shot through Claude, but he ignored it. “ Still have time, though. I also wanted to discuss maybe setting up a schedule for talk- if we're going to try to stop... whatever's coming... we'll need to plan.”

“ That can be set up when we're not all exhausted,” Claude said. “ Frankly, it's only noon, but I'm _wiped_. Anyone else here tired, after all this?”

“ My brain's fried,” Leonie admitted. “ This... this is so damn much to take in. I'm going to go train. Who's with me?”

“ Oh thank the Goddess,” Lysithea breathed. “ _Please_ , let me hit something.”

“ I'll go too,” Ignatz said, surprising everyone. “ If we're going after these people- might as well get my bow warmed up.”

“ I must regretfully decline,” Lorenz said. “ I have letters to write- this task will not be delayed a single moment.”

“ Same here,” Ferdinand said. “ Let's coordinate, Lorenz. See what avenues of investigation occur to either of us, that might not occur to one alone.”

“ I'll join you,” Claude said. Normally he would not subject himself to both noble dumbasses at the same time if he had a choice... but he had to slide away before Byleth called him out. “ Two heads are better than one, and three is better than two, right?”

“ I'll go with you,” Marianne said. “ I... I'm bad at writing letters, I'll need the help.”

“ Five of us?” Hilda said. “ This is somewhat sensitive... I'll see if I can get one of the study rooms blocked off. And some food- I didn't eat breakfast, I'm famished!”

“ Give me your orders,” Raphael said. “ I'm heading to the cafeteria right now- well, the tent we're using for it, anyway. Can't believe the Flame Emperor wiped out the cafeteria- what a monster!”

Claude nodded his head. “ A solid plan.”

Hilda tapped Claude's shoulder. “ Hey, umm, I almost forgot in all the... _everything_... but Ferdinand had something to talk about?”

“ Oh yeah,” Claude said. “ Ferdinand, what was your concern? Before we move on to other things.”

“ Oh!” the red-head said. “ I plainly forgot. Apologies. It was over guard duties. I was going to ask to take over the midnight shift; I've been patrolling early morning alongside Lorenz, but it's throwing me off for the rest of the day to wake up so early. Apparently I'm more of a night owl than a morning person, to my own disgruntlement.”

“ Midnight patrol is Lysithea and Ignatz,” Hilda reminded Claude, consulting her journal.

“ Either of you two want to trade with Ferdinand?” Claude asked those two, who were already getting up to leave.

“ I... would like a morning shift,” Ignatz admitted. “ I'd like to see the dawn over Garreg Mach every day. I find it... inspiring.”

“ Ignatz is excellent morning company,” Lorenz said, “ though I'll miss your fine company terribly, Ferdinand.”

“ I'll miss you as well, my fellow noble,” Ferdinand said, “ but my sleep schedule is a harsh and unforgiving mistress. If Lysithea has no complaints, I'll accompany her on midnight shifts.”

“ I've no complaints,” Lysithea said. “ Meet me here at midnight sharp and follow my lead, and there'll be no problems.”

“ Agreed,” Ferdinand said.

And thus, with a whimper and not a bang, did the Herd scatter and separate, all pondering Byleth's words... and their newfound role.

( And left behind, Byleth put her worries aside to enjoy tea with Rhea, pushing aside all her fears- and her observation that Claude did not offer up his own secret for the group.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a ride. That was a Thing that Happened.
> 
> Please comment below, and please- stick with me. This road don't end! More and more to come.
> 
> Next chapter: The last two Eagles have a discussion.


	6. Change, J'Adoube

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time: Consequences and Caspar and Linhardt, oh my!

**Change, J'Adoube**

Lysithea met Ferdinand directly at midnight, as promised. This late at night, the area was quiet; most students were asleep, save for those who either simply did not sleep, or were busy partying out of the sight of most of the Knights. The classrooms, closed, sat quiet and dreaming in the dark of bright days and white clouds, and all Garreg Mach seemed asleep.

“ Ready?” she asked Ferdinand as he approached. Her words were neutral in tone, but her eyes _dared_ him to mention something about what she'd said today, at that... most emotionally taxing meeting.

Ferdinand, who had barely recovered from it even now, had _no_ intention of doing that with anyone, much less the most dangerous of the Deer. He didn't fancy getting his head slapped off his shoulders, or being blasted with dark magic or... or just getting run through with the sword she wore at her side. Really, kind of depended on her mood.

“ Yes,” he said. “ How have you and Ignatz done your route? I'd hate to interfere with the workings of the oldest of our routes.”

The Deer had set up multiple routes in the wake of the assassination attempt, mostly focused on the dorms, but there'd been a lot of mixing and swapping as people discovered what worked best with their schedule- all except Lysithea and Ignatz, who'd been partnered up since the start on the midnight run.

“ I made you a list,” Lysithea said, after a long moment where she waited for him to say something stupid; Ferdinand having passed that test, her expression softened, and she pulled out a small sheet of paper from a pocket. “ Probably should have given it to you earlier, but, well. Today was a shit day.”

“ Indeed,” Ferdinand said as he took the paper from her. Lysithea's language was coarse- but given what she'd described today, it was more than forgivable. Such tragedy would make the finest soul rough.

“ Don't,” Lysithea said, seeing his thoughts in Ferdinand's eyes, in the way they weren't _really_ looking at the paper. “ You say anything, I'll hit you.”

“ I'll keep all comments to myself, then,” Ferdinand said, looking over the paper in the light of a nearby torch, before managing to work up a small smile for Lysithea. “ I'd hate to be struck down in my prime, and by a fellow Deer, at that.”

“ Glad you know I'd kick your ass,” Lysithea said in her gruff way- but a smile found its way to her face anyway. In a lighter tone, she continued, indicating the paper. “ Two routes on there. The wider route is yours. My stamina's not good enough to do much, but I can keep a tight circuit around the dorms, and I check on the classrooms and the training grounds too- and the sauna, once a night. The steps are a bit... steep, for me.”

She sighed before continuing. “ Anyway, Ignatz didn't mind the longer route. He liked to roam the monastery, looking for inspiration while he was keeping watch; but he also went out of his way to deliberately vary his route. That was the best of his ideas; keeps the patrol from being too familiar to anyone trying to watch. We're not Hilda, but we do our best.”

Ferdinand nodded. “ It's all we can do. Anything else before we head out?”

“ Two of the guards gave Ignatz shit every night,” Lysithea said. “ Part of Catherine's group. I've noted where they're stationed on the list- right where the cafeteria used to be. Just avoid them. Not worth the trouble.”

Ferdinand nodded. He hadn't had any problems on his own patrols- but then again, he _was_ the heir of the highest noble in Adrestia. Not even Knights of Seiros would trouble him lightly- even those who agreed with Catherine about Byleth's... “undue influence” on the Archbishop.

“ Who's on watch among the other Houses?” Ferdinand asked. The monastery- being a military academy- had its students perform nightly rounds, generally each class getting the night watch for a month and being left to figure out who got the job amongst themselves. Up until the assassination attempt, that's how the Deer had done it, too- but Claude's brush with death changed everything. The Deer's nightly watch was every day, now, Byleth even getting special dispesnation from Rhea to let her students do their rounds.

The other Houses still had night watch as normal, however. Rhea considered it good training- and it wasn't like extra eyes would hurt the monastery's security.

“ Ingrid and Sylvain,” Lysithea said. “ It's their last night, though. Black Eagles take over tomorrow; it'll be Caspar and Linhardt. Edelgard told Claude at their last game.”

“ Those two? That'll be... interesting,” Ferdinand mused. Lysithea chuckled, her laugh the last truly young thing about her.

“ Yeah,” she said, already imagining the duo's absurd antincs. She didn't know either boy well, but she'd heard stories, and the idea of those two as night watch... they'd burn down half the town. “ Better than Sylvain, anyway. I remember when he tried to join the Deer- wanted to get a 'closer look' at Teach- I mean, Professor Byleth, _dammit Claude_.”

She sighed as Ferdinand fought down a smirk. “ We will all be doing that by year's end, I wager,” he said, and Lysithea snorted.

“ Probably. Anyway, they both actually do their rounds, though I suspect Ingrid was assigned to watch Sylvain; when it was him and Felix, he'd sneak off to girl's rooms while Felix practiced footwork and stances by himself. Not very serious guards, the either of them.”

Ferdinand nodded. “ That sounds about right. If there's nothing else, I'll begin.”

“ Just one more thing. Ignatz saw some strange people near the greenhouse a couple of nights ago. Keep an eye out- probably just students sneaking off to engage in, uh, 'extracurriculars', but you never know.”

“ I will maintain constant vigilance!” Ferdinand said, saluting the younger woman, bringing a wry smile to her face.

The route went easy that night, neither of the two Deer aware of Edelgard and her Eagles leaving for their discussion- though Ferdinand came within inches of catching the man Ignatz had spotted.

-

After the red-headed guy left, Balthus quickly slipped inside the greenhouse. The greenhouse gardener was sympathetic to the Abyss, and so she never bothered to check behind one particular pot for anything that might be... misplaced. It was usually a pretty safe place, so the Wolves used it for some of the more sensitive or valuable stuff they needed.

Well, it _had_ been pretty safe; they'd lost some stuff here recently.

( Byleth's fault; she had the acute scavenging instincts of a vulture with a hoarding problem, and her upbringing under Jeralt had left her with a deep disrespect for property law- as evidenced by her habit of picking up every damn thing she found.)

Balthus prayed that wasn't the case right now. Hapi needed those supplies- he checked the pot, the big man feeling awkward. Stealth work like this wasn't his forte. Sure, he'd been taught by the other Wolves, who were the sneakiest people at Garreg Mach (save Hubert and perhaps Claude)... but they couldn't change the fact that he was built like a boulder of meat, his body designed for close combat and ill-suited for most other tasks. Hell, without lights on he could barely _see_ in here, just surrounded by the cloying smell of flowers...

His hands brushed the satchel. Thank the Goddess. Balthus tossed her a quick prayer as he grabebd it and slipped back out, heading to one of the Abyss' secret entrances, hands clutched around a bag of vulneraries and antidotes. They'd be able to heal Hapi from her current wounds, get her back in fighting shape- hopefully before the next wave hit. They needed her on the frontlines, now more than ever.

The Abyss was under siege.

-

The letters were sent in the morning, though given the limits of Fodlan's system of communication, it would be a week or two before most reached their destinations.

The children of the most prominent noble houses of the Alliance wrote home, and they helped each other with their letters; Lorenz and Claude provided the political side, while Hilda, an old hat at getting others to work for her with her words, provided most of the actual langauge used; Marianne and Ferdinand kept everyone else on track, Marianne still blazing a little with the holy fire that had filled her in the classroom, the preacher's tone fresh air in her lungs, giving her strength to carry on.

( She would retreat to her room afterwards, exhausted- but the knowledge that no one had rejected her was a pebble in her pocket to keep, and she fell asleep smiling.)

Their teamwork proved its worth well; the letters worked.

Each noble house, after finding out what was done to Lysithea, pledged to support House Ordelia in its time of need; the assumption was that, if such an attack could be carried out on one noble house, with the perpetrators still unknown, than _any_ House might be their next victim, and so self-preservation and justice both demanded they work together.

Each began to investigate and research, figuring out much along the way; they would write back, and through their children, all the Alliance would, for once, find itself coordinated, and working towards the same goal. Facts would begin pouring in, things one eye alone would miss that, seen through the medium of a thousand, took on a single coherent picture.

And that picture those million eyes painted would beggar belief; over the next month, Claude and his comrades would find out more than they'd ever wanted to know, and realize that this was not some isolated thing they were looking at, but a conspiracy wide as all Fodlan.

( And in the back of all their minds, they thought of the war Byleth had prophecied... and wondered if these men in masks might be responsible, the Deer stumbling onto half the truth by accident while seeking only to help their youngest- as, perhaps, was only appropriate, given their nature.)

But even before that time, some months in the future- before the time that the Alliance, youngest of Fodlan's nations, would realize that the oldest of Fodlan's nations yet existed as a cancer in their midst, and would realize its duty to cut it out- the Deer's letters would bear bitter fruit for Agartha to swallow. The Alliance tightened its grip and Agartha felt its breath begin to choke; it was harder, now, to move undetected, the letters prompted security measures that gave them fewer cracks to slip through. Merchant caravans were checked, cover stories were more thoroughly prodded, and more _care_ was taken by the nobility with the lands under their reign- and for Those who Slithered in the Dark, who relied so much on Fodlan's carelessness, it proved a heavy burden.

The Alliance quickly became hostile territory for the Slithering Ones- a fact made much worse by the fact that Shambhala, their sacred home, was itself located in Leceister, and could not be moved. Thales, in Adrestia, felt something like panic grip him, and raged to his servants of the fundamental absurdity that their greatest foe might not be the Fell Star nor her bastard children, but the bestials who had infested Fodlan in the absence of true humanity. No one had been caught yet, and the humans that the Agarthans considered subracials did not _truly_ know the extent of what was going on- but Thales feared it was only a matter of time.

But for all the damage the letters of Leceister caused, it was the lone Adrestian among them who would have the biggest impact, who would prove the most piercing of the Deer's antlers, though his blow would be delivered last.

Ferdinand wrote home, and he wrote of the experiments, and Lysithea's pain, and his promise that he would find her family's bodies and bring them home; the letter was not sent to his father, but to his father's retainer, for Ferdinand knew better than to expect that his father would care to send money to him chasing a dream of valor and honor.

The retainer, however, had always been good to Ferdinand, and after discussing it with the other Deer, the young man thought the old butler might be willing to discretely send him supplies and information. House Aegir would never openly ally with House Ordelia, but Ferdinand might yet be able to provide surreptitious aid to his friend.

But what Ferdinand did not know was this: the retainer had been there when Duke von Aegir gave the fateful order, when he told Thales to do whatever was necessary to create the perfect Emperor for Adrestia. The hands of Agartha were turned against Edelgard's family... but it was done at the orders of Ferdinand's father, the ringleader who came up with the scheme.

( Hubert was correct, as was Edelgard's fury; for all that the Slithering Ones had put the blades in her flesh, it was her own people who had backstabbed her. It had been an Adrestian who spoke the words that got her family murdered, who had not just allowed but _commanded_ it to happen.)

The retainer had helped write the order himself, at his Duke's request; and while it had just been a simple service at the time, as the days passed and the retainer met the Agarthans in person, he slowly realized just what he had participated in, what abomination he associated with now.

The retainer, regret staining his soul, had went down into the dark himself, and he had seen just what they'd done to the children; children, on those slabs, cut and cut and pieces sewn back in or taken out, the terrible surgeries... the way the bodies were so desecrated, even after death.

The Agarthans had caught him, but instead of killing him, they'd spared him; after all, as their leader had pointed out, he was Duke Aegir's retainer, and the Duke was the one who was paying them. If he wanted to watch, who were they to challenge it?

So he was allowed to stay, and he watched, even as the dead began to pile up. He forced himself to watch, feeling _someone_ should, even as it gave him nightmares that, even to this day, recurred often.

( The image he could not forget- the woman in the shrike-skull mask, who had been the foremost of the mage scientists, who had been amused by his disgust. The woman in the bird-skull mask, and the way she had, gently, touched Edelgard's forehead with her blood-soaked gloves after each terrible violation, a caress more grotesque than all her abuses, for the parody it made of tenderness, the dark crimson on Edelgard's too pale face.)

It was not what he _should_ have done. He should have stolen all of Duke Aegir's funds and bought an army of mercenaries to thunder into the dark and save them; he should have tackled the guards himself, if he had no money or power otherwise. He should have done _something,_ rather than just... watched.

But the retainer was a weak man... a truth he could not deny, not after what he'd seen, and what he'd allowed to come to pass.

But this letter... this letter was a second chance... was an opportunity to see if, in the years since, he had grown any stronger.

The coin of choice flipped through his skull, as it had once before, standing in that room, watching the terrible things they'd done.

Holding that letter in his hand, with that coin flipping in his skull, he thought of the brave, foolish boy who had written the letter, who used his noble status to make up for any teenage insecurity, who blustered and bolstered and made a fool of himself... and who fought with his father on matters of justice, and righteousness, and holiness. Ferdinand, who _cared_. Ferdinand, who was a good man, the way his father had never been, the way the retainer had _failed_ to be, when it mattered. Ferdinand... who was strong, who would not relent, though it killed him.

He thought of how Ferdinand might react- of the justice he might seek, if he knew what had been done to his future Emperor. Of the good Ferdinand might yet do, that the retainer could set in motion, and thus, in some small way, atone, and help that poor girl, whom he had seen strapped to a table, and lacked the strength and courage both to release.

He thought of how he had made his choice once before, caught the coin and did nothing; and wondered what might happen, if he made a different choice.

With tears in his eyes- and fire in his belly- the old man proved the difference between humans and dogs by learning a new trick: he caught the coin, but this time, he put his bet on the other side.

He wrote all the truth he knew back to Ferdinand.

_I know not this Lysithea, but the same events happened to Lady Edelgard. Let me detail them for you..._

And when all the long words of letter were written and sent- within the hour, for this mattered, this had to be _done_ -the retainer, with his heart growing lighter each second, wrote more letters, ordering the servants of the mighty House to find the best hunters in Fodlan, to find dead-eyed bounty hunters and mercenaries skilled in the ways of trackers, women with blood-nosed hounds and men clever at spotting holes in records, a collection of ten strangers whom he brought to the manor in the dead of night and in secret, even from his Lord.

And to each he promised a prince's ransom, so long as at least _one_ of them accomplished the impossible task he set before them- the task of following a trail over a decade cold, and running the masked mages to the ground.

The hunters, who had no reason to compete with each other under such a payment scheme, joined forces instead, and stories and legends could be written of their hunt; of desperate back alley brawls with thugs and thieves, of impossible revelations found out through the slimmest of evidence, of lucky guesses and hunches and slow, painstaking research. There was even a romance, a man of Dagda falling hard for an Adrestian bowman, who found in each other what they had always been missing.

And in time, this strange mish-mash did, in fact, find a dark place of Agartha, a hidden laboratory, and without being detected, reported it back. Payment was received as promised, and they went their separate ways- all but the two in love, who went to Dagda together, and married each other there in that people's traditional way, settling down to live as husbands with their money in hand.

Thus it was that, as Ferdinand received the reply telling him of Edelgard's suffering, the retainer was already writing the next letter, and telling him where the bones of the innocent might lie.

( On such a small hinge does the entire world turn; one man desired to do good, and all the world adjusts to a new paradigm. The retainer would be responsible for so much of the good the Deer would do, and none of them but Ferdinand would even know his name... but no one is made unimportant in life's story, even the nameless.)

-

_My room_

_Linhardt_

The simplest note in the world. Caspar wasn't sure what Lin wanted, but he had to admit- this wasn't like him. Lin's script wasn't this... loose. This didn't even have punctuation... and it was written so... thickly, to get the ink to run so heavy Linhardt must have pressed his pen tight as he could against the paper. Caspar wouldn't be surprised if he'd broken the tip.

And the way it just... trailed off, too... this looked like he'd fallen asleep halfway in and his pen had slid off the edge before he caught himself.

( Given it was Lin, maybe he had.)

And the writing had been under his door when he woke up this morning. Which was also weird; because since when was Lin up before _anybody_?

Caspar shook his head. First thing in the morning, and he had a mystery on his hands.

...Actually, now that he was thinking on it, Caspar hadn't seen Linhardt in a few days. He'd assumed he was just buried in some Crest project or another, or that they'd just happened to miss each other.

Not a big deal. A few days without contact wasn't that inexplicable for Linhardt, given his twin loves of science and sleep; and it wasn't like he was going to be hurting in class for it. Manuela almost never took attendance, either too hung-over or busy regaling them with some tale of her misdeeds in the mornings, revolving around men, food, Hanneman's noble yet futile attempts to make her act like a human being, and men, in that order.

( Caspar found those diatribes hilarious, if only because watching Edelgard twitch and try not to yell at Manuela- possibly while physically assaulting her- was great entertainment.)

Still... this note... something was wrong.

Shaking his head, Caspar went to find his best friend... and maybe, well, _more_ , if he was being honest. They were Adrestians, after all; and while Linhardt's position as House heir meant he'd have to marry a woman to keep the bloodline- and more importantly, the Crest- going, him having a lover on the side was how Adrestians had done it throughout all their history, a useful... _understanding_.

Admittedly, Caspar hated the sort of sideways wink-wink-nudge-nudge euphemism of it all, but that was Adrestian culture for you. Caspar suspected his fellow Adrestians _preferred_ it that way, the stuffy old shits fond of anything that could be tittered over as a scandal; Adrestians _did_ love their drama.

These thoughts faded as he dressed, walked out his door, and went to Linhardt's room. He knocked, and the door opened so fast he almost jumped; had Linhardt been _waiting?_

“ Lin?” Caspar said.

“ Inside,” Linhardt growled, and _that_ was so wrong Caspar's eyes shot open wide, even as his surprised feet marched into the room.

“ Lin,” he said, turning as Linhardt shut and locked the door- then did a double take as he really looked at the green-haired fellow.

Linhardt... Linhardt looked like _hell_. He had bags under his eyes, and he staggered where he stood, swaying on his feet. He looked ready to collapse, as though he'd went ten rounds with the world's best boxer and come out the worse for it.

“ You haven't slept,” Caspar said, with a sense of horror. What the _hell?_

Linhardt nodded his head, then put it into his hands, and pitched forward face first.

“ Fuck!” Caspar shouted in surprise, catching him before he hit the floor. Linhardt jerked awake on impact.

“ Oh, Goddess,” Linhardt moaned. “ Thank you. If I'd fallen asleep- awful. Just... can't sleep.”

“ Why the hell haven't you slept?” Caspar said, mad with the anger born of worry, bodily hauling his friend to his bed. “ You get stuck on some Crest bullshit again? That's the only time I've ever seen you do this- bet you haven't _eaten_ , either-”

“ Probably not,” Linhardt said, curling up into himself. “ Can't remember the last time I ate- heh. You know me so well, Caspar...”

“ Course I do,” Caspar said, his voice a bit softer, as he put Linhardt, who he cared so much about, onto his bed. Linhardt refused to lay down, propped himself up on his arms. “ Must be why you left me that note- you wanted me to come save you from all this, right?”

“ No- there's no saving me, or anyone- I... Caspar. I've been awake for.. four days, at least. Maybe... maybe three. I'm not sure. I... it's nightmares, Caspar. They wake me up.”

“ Goddess in Hell, what kind of nightmares are they?” Caspar said, moving next to... his... whatever the hell they were.

“ The truth,” Linhardt admitted.

“ The truth?” Caspar repeated dumbly, as Linhardt turned his miserable, _tired_ eyes on Caspar.

“ I wouldn't have figured it out,” Linhardt breathed, “ except... except for the fire. That fire... Edelgard, trying not to be noticed, the only person not surprised by the fire, she tried to play it cool but you could see it in her eyes, her actions, the story her body told did not match the one coming out of her mouth. And Hubert, missing during a crisis? And there was no indication he'd been sent off earlier that day like she claimed- a convenient cover story, unverifiable.”

“ Then the way they trust Bernadetta now- the way they act around her- Petra and Dorothea joining them. Strange. Hubert limped the day after the fire, just a little... and the assassin's description was of a mage with darkness in his hands. Few dark mages in the school- Hubert's one of them and Lysithea's the other, but I saw Lysithea fighting the fire that night. Bernadetta's helping them. A burning arrow could have started that fire- Bernadetta's a good archer..”

“ Bernie? No, she...” Caspar protested, but Linhardt interrupted him, surprising him even more. He was _frantic_ , his eyes haunted, and he grabbed Caspar's shoulders, forced him to look him in the eye.

“ Caspar. _Listen to me._ Bernie's shy, right? But no. Look at her. _Look_ at her! The way she looks at Edelgard- the way she looks at Hubert, now. Love and loyalty can make a timid heart brave, Caspar. And yes, it's crazy, but who would suspect? And she never left her room that night. Even I left my room to fight the fire, I was there with all of you, awake and casting spells to contain the inferno... but not Bernie. Bernie's terrified of everything, sure, but she comes out of her room for lesser things like class, from time to time- she could have left her room, if only to flee the fire entirely. But she didn't. She was hiding something... or someone.”

Linhardt laughed, but it was without mirth, the hopeless laugh of the condemned. “ A-and, Edelgard, she never could name anything. It's so _absurd_ , it's the only reason no one's figured it out yet. Flame Emperor. Obvious. So obvious, could not be more obvious if she tried. Be like Claude calling himself the Duke of Winds o Dimitri calling himself the Ice King. It's just so _stupid_ that no one thinks she'd do it. How did she force Hubert to accept this? He's not this stupid.”

“ What are you getting at?” Caspar said, putting his own arms on Linhardt's shoulders... but he knew what Linhardt was getting at, he just... it _couldn't_ be...

Linhardt breathed in.

( Had any breath he'd ever taken weighed so much? It was heavy as lead- had to be, to carry the words he was about to say, these words so fraught with impossibilities.)

“ Edelgard is the Flame Emperor,” Linhardt breathed out.

They both sat there for a minute, just... absorbing it. It was different, now that it was out of his head, now that it had gone out of his mouth; he could not take it back in, he had spoken it into being, it was... it was _real_ , now. Whatever doubts he'd had were gone in the time it had taken him to exhale the words; speaking it made it more real, for all that he, logically, _knew_ that wasn't true.

“ You're sure,” Caspar said. Not a question.

Linhardt nodded, taking his hands off Caspar and putting his head in his hands again.

“ Caspar... what are we going to do?” he whispered.

Caspar thought about it, in his straightforward way, as he lowered his arms off Linhardt.

...Who was still in no condition whatsoever to be having this discussion. Caspar didn't know what to do about Edelgard, but... he could take care of Linhardt.

“ You sleep, first,” he said. “ You can't make a decision right now, tired as you are.”

“ Can't,” Linhardt moaned. “ Tried. Keep dreaming- blood, blood, Edelgard's gonna murder the whole continent with this. The Church will have to respond- she can't keep it secret forever. The mask will come off and then Adrestia will war with the Church- with Faerghus- with the fucking Alliance, maybe, I don't know. So much blood, I can't sleep. I keep seeing it. Hevring will get dragged in, we'll... there'll be so much _blood_...”

Tears stung the gentle hearler's eyes. “ I... I don't know what to do with it. How am I supposed to... have to stop it... but why would she do this?”

( Do not forget this lesson first; of all the people at Garreg Mach, Linhardt was the best of them, his morals the strongest... for all that would come of them.)

“ Sleep first,” Caspar said... but he knew no herbs or medicines, had nothing to offer Linhardt... but he remembered nightmares of his own youth, and how having someone else nearby helped.

Quietly, Caspar said, “ Would you like me to stay with you?”

“ I- what?” Linhardt said.

“ Might make you sleep easier, if... I'm here,” Caspar said, a bit too quickly, ducking his head, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

“ I'd try anything at this point,” Linhardt admitted, but then, more quietly, “ But Caspar... we've always... we don't talk about this thing between us...”

“ And we won't,” Caspar said. “ Not right now. You sleep first. I'm just gonna... be next to you. So you can sleep.”

Lin looked in his eyes, and past all the horror and pain Caspar saw... something else, something he did not dare put a name to yet.

Linhardt must have seen something in his eyes, too, for he scooted back, giving Caspar space. Caspar lay down next to him, and he was suddenly, violently aware of where all of his body was in relationship to all of Linhardt's body, him a small and tight counterpoint to Linhardt's long, lanky form.

Linhardt lay very still next to him- but that would not do, he could not sleep stiff as a board, so Caspar was brave and threw his arm around him first.

“ Come on, don't make it weird,” Caspar said, and that was so stupid, so _silly_ that Linhardt actually laughed, a little and low sound.

“ I'm not doing anything in that regard,” Linhardt said, and it was true. Nobody had to do anything to _make_ this weird, it just _was_ weird, given their attraction to each other and their history and... and all the unspoken thing between them.

Then, turning to face Caspar on the bed, Linhardt burrowed his head into Caspar's shoulder, lifting Caspar up until he was a bit taller on the bed than the greenhead, pressed in close.

Caspar kissed him on the forehead, very gently, and some terrible tension left Linhardt when he did so, the tall man slumped delicately into the bluenette's chest as he did so.

( Love, the one emotion humans have that is as strong as their hate, that can set off wars, build religions, inspire art... and make a soul as rough and straightforward as Caspar careful with another person's heart.)

Linhardt tasted of sweat and worry... and Caspar realized, with some annoyance, that the man needed a shower, now that Caspar's nose was this close to him.

Terrible revelation to have, since Caspar was committed, now, Linhardt had thrown an arm around him, too, and he was trapped.

But in a few moments, Linhardt was asleep, and his face was untroubled, he slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted in Caspar's arms. It was something good enough to see that Caspar could ignore any physical discomfort on his part.

After all, he had mental discomfort enough to distract him. There was not one coin spinning in his head, but a dozen, a hundred, _thousands_ , great handfuls tossed into the air in his soul, too many choices to even _begin_ to parse all the ways this could go.

( The reason the golden road blinded Byleth's goddess-eyes; not one coin but a billion, not a single glint but the shine of a trillion suns, all flipping in the air one after another, a morass of multiplicity that even the greatest minds among humanity and divinity alike could only _begin_ to separate.)

_Edelgard is the Flame Emperor._

Caspar sat there, and thought about that, as Linhardt slept. War... he'd always known he'd have to make his own way, and war was the most certain way anyone had ever designed to make your own way. For someone like him, a relentlessly training soldier, war was a fine way to carve your own path... He should send Edelgard a fruit basket. This war was going to be _amazing_ for him if he could survive it.

He could make a name for himself, hacking down the foes of Adrestia- and for once, he would not be dismissed, he would not be overlooked. He would not be Caspar, second son, of no worth to the House of Bergliez.

He'd be Caspar von Bergliez, war hero of Adrestia, Black Eagle and servant of Emperor Edelgard, the Flame Emperor.

...But his eyes flicked back to Linhardt, and thought of his haunted visage, and his mind kept playing over his words.

Hell of a dilemma.

_Dammit, Goddess_ , Caspar thought, _why do you have such a hard-on for fucking up my life?_

It was always like this. Caspar had big dreams of doing things that _mattered_... but he'd always been stymied by things outside of his control. Being born the second son, destined to inherit nothing- but that wouldn't have been so bad if people didn't just... _dismiss_ him. No one in the family asked Caspar his opinion on anything. He didn't matter, and even his trip to Garreg Mach was just a kind of... duty the family had to perform. What they _owed_ him; they would not _give_ him anything.

And here... here, he was dismissed too. Edelgard had not brought him into her conspiracy like she had the others. Linhardt not being in on it he got; the Hevrings were part of the Insurrection of the Seven. He could see Edelgard carrying a bit of a grudge for that.

But House Bergliez had supported the Emperor in the Insurrection. They were allies, if not friends. She should have involved him in it, _trusted_ him, if for no other reason than his family's continued loyalty. It had _cost_ them, to support her father; they had lost the Insurrection, after all, and it was only the fear of causing a widespread civil war that left Bergliez in control of the military. Their influence was curtailed, and so many of them were banished from more important posts, forced to pull back to lesser positions...

That was Bergliez's reward for helping Edelgard's family. If she was the Flame Emperor, whatever goal she was after... she should have brought him in, for his family ties, if nothing else.

But she hadn't, of course. Why would it be any different than it always was? His own family barely considered himself part of them; obviously Edelgard would overlook his family's contributions, and dismiss him. She probably viewed him as little more than a warm body in the ranks, just another warrior.

...Even _Petra_ was part of it, and she wasn't even Adrestian! Edelgard had trusted literally _everyone_ in the Eagles, but not him. Never him...

He was always second. Second son, second place, second best. Second, second, second, he was so fucking _sick_ of silver medals, he wanted the gold, he wanted to be first in someone's eyes for once.

He glanced down at Linhardt, who had not slept in four days... but slept peacefully in his arms. That... that was a _joy_ , that Linhardt trusted him so much that Caspar's arms alone could drive his nightmares away. Linhardt, whom he would have to talk to, when he woke up- about Edelgard, but about them, too. He... he didn't mind this, he could be Linhardt's _understanding_ if that's what he wanted, and be happy.

After all, Linhardt was the only person who'd ever put Caspar first- he told him about Edelgard first, after all. The biggest secret Linhardt would ever uncover... and he'd chosen _Caspar_ to hear it first.

He looked at that sleeping healer, and thought of how _horrified_ he was of the war, how _opposed_ he was to the very war that might give Caspar everything he wanted- everything except Linhardt himself.

Well. His path was clear, then.

_Fuck_ Edelgard.

(Stop the spin of half the coins; Caspar makes the first choice.)

He wasn't second best to _anyone_. Linhardt had picked Caspar first, to tell this truth to; so his allegiance was with him. He wouldn't leave the healer's side- and the healer's side was _peace._

That left Caspar only one option: He was going to stop this war.

He was ill-suited for it. That was the simple truth. He'd be the most violent advocate for peace history had ever seen... but hell, he _did_ want to be first at _something_ , maybe it'd fit. Maybe he could use violence judiciously to enforce the peace, keep the people in line. He'd keep Linhardt's hands clean of blood, and his mind free of horrors; for choosing him first, for being the only person who ever _had_ chosen him first, it was the least he could do.

...But how?

Fuck. Thinking... was _not_ his strong suit.

...But he had nothing else to do here, and hell. Linhardt always _was_ after him to do more thinking.

In his arms, Caspar thought.

-

Linhardt awoke some hours later. Caspar had managed to slip out of his arms just once, to both use the bathroom (his bladder had been giving him terrible ultimatums for a while) and to eat (his stomach had joined his bladder in its protests), but he had returned; when the gentle healer awoke, Caspar was in his bed, holding him tight.

“ Mmm...” Linhardt said, muzzily, his mind mercifully forgetting the last few days, just for the moment. “ Morning.”

“ Evening,” Caspar replied cheerfully. “ To be more correct. How are you feeling?”

Linhardt pondered that a moment. “ Hungry,” he said, then sniffed and curled his noise. “ Need a shower.”

“ Yep,” Caspar agreed. “ I'll get you something from the cafeteria tent. Go shower. We'll talk when you're back.”

Talk...? The truth came hammering back at Linhardt, and he tightened his grip on Caspar- but Caspar tightened his grip on him, too, and Linhardt, for the first time in four days, felt... safe.

“ Thank you,” Linhardt said... then, moving on instinct and want and the bright warm thing in his chest, he lowered his lips to Caspar's.

Caspar kissed him back, and it was like a storybook, just for a second. A brief brush of lips, but it felt... it felt nice, it was the first kiss for both of them. For a moment, neither of them were caught up in the Flame Emperor and all the fraught, desperate tension of Garreg Mach, but they were just two sixteen-year-olds enjoying their first kiss.

“ I love you,” Linhardt said.

“ That's good,” Caspar said, “ because I decided I loved you too while you slept. Be bad if you didn't return it.”

Linhardt laughed softly, and then rose up. “ Okay,” he said. “ Get me some food- I'll shower- and... let's figure this out.”

Thirty minutes later, Linhardt smelled better, and his quickly-scarfed supper/breakfast sat warm in his belly as he sat in his room, facing Caspar, who had taken over the bed.

“ So... I have to admit,” Linhardt said, “ I don't have any ideas.”

“ I do,” Caspar said. “ I have a bunch- but I want you to hear one idea in particular. I think it gives us the best chance to stop Edelgard before anyone else is hurt.”

“ Okay,” Linhardt said. “ I'm ready.”

Caspar grinned at him. “ First, when are Claude and Edelgard playing their next game?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Claude and Edelgard play another round, and Caspar does something that surely won't change the course of fate... and the Blue Lions make a special guest appearance, with an eye on becoming recurring characters.
> 
> Leave a comment, the longer the better- and stay tuned!


	7. Past and Present Days of Garreg Mach, Middlegame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ON A ROLL!... Which will stop after the next chapter. This about catches me up to where I was before I lost all my work... and that works out because the story is now going in a different direction.
> 
> Note that the last three chapters all happened on the same day- this chapter begins the day after the Deer's meeting, which happened in the morning. That afternoon, Byleth had tea with Rhea; and that night, Edelgard and her Eagles met at her hidden Flame Emperor camp.
> 
> But this is the next day- the next week, even.
> 
> Please leave a review below!

**Past and Present Days of Garreg Mach, Middlegame**

Outside Lysithea's door, the morning after the great meeting, was a little bag of sweets, with Mercedes' handwriting on the note attached to them.

_Take them or trash them, your choice- I just thought you'd appreciate a little treat. -Love, Mercedes_ _♥_

She didn't know what to do for a minute, her hatred of pity warring with her desire for Mercedes' treats- _Mercedes_ , the best cook at Garreg Mach, her only real competition Ashe or, surprisingly, Dedue, her fellow Lions the only people who might be as good as she was- and neither were her equal with sweets, though Dedue's cakes were damn close.

( Petra, unknown to most, was actually in the competition for best cook, but she never could get the right spices for her Brigid dishes, and didn't know many Fodlan recipes, so they all came out tasting off. Her father had taught her, and she'd honed her skills in his memory; honestly, if they had access to a decent spice merchant, she'd have crushed the competition.)

But in the war of vices between her pride and her gluttony, a virtue tipped the scales, as she thought of _how_ Mercedes had presented this gift to her- just a dropped-off box, nothing more, a handwritten note that told her she could keep or throw away these sweets. Not done with Mercedes there to pity her, or to demand that she do one or the other; no pressure, no weight, no expectation.

Offered, that she might take it, or leave it... given not to hurt her or demean her or lessen her, the way pity would, but to cheer her up, to help, to let her recover.

And so Mercedes' charity weighed in on the side of gluttony, pride lost, and Lysithea took the sweets into her room... and the first bite was like heaven, sweet and strong.

In the next few days- before the great event that would transpire at that week's end- she would ponder that gift. She would ponder all the gifts, the little things her fellow Deer did for her, in the coming days; the way Leonie, in her usual brash manner, offered to repair the scabbard of her sword, and to teach her how to maintain it- as well as how to fight with it.

“ If you're going to wear it,” the rough orange lady had said, muscular arms folded, “ you should know how to keep it clean... and I can help teach you how to fight.”

The whole time they were together, meeting once-a-day that week, Leonie did not speak of Lysithea's pain, but talked only of the practicalities of weapon maintenance; the dark mage spent pleasant afternoons learning how to oil her blade, how to sharpen it until the edge sang when she swung it, how to swing it in such a way that her horrible stamina and weak arms would not get her killed.

“ Counter attack!” Leonie said. “ You can't commit to an assault, so _don't._ Don't fight your weakness, move around it! That's how Jeralt taught me. Recognize your problems, focus on your strengths. I'm aggressive, so I'm better off constantly attacking, trying to wear out my opponents- all swift strikes and storming in- but you can't do that. You are _smart_ , though. Use that! Wait for the _other_ guy to commit. Then get him! Use that big brain of yours- you can memorize a billion counters, and recognize when to apply them.

“ Remember,” Leonie said, with a smile, “ you just need one swing to kill a man. Anybody thinks a woman can't fight and kill needs to remember that- doesn't need much strength to sink a blade in. Unless you're an archer, strength doesn't matter all that much.”

Words to live by. For all Lysithea's weakness- she could manage _one_ swing. And Leonie gave her books on form, showed her holes in each attack, and she studied the basics, began practicing them- against spears and lances first, because Leonie wanted to give her the hard stuff first.

( How to step into a scythe swing, a very deliberate choice for their first lesson- Leonie remembered the Death Knight.)

In turn, Lysithea showed her the idea she'd had, of hexing the blade to make it sharp, sharper, _sharpest,_ until the edge was ground down to a single hungry atom. Leonie had been _pumped_ about that, the idea of magic turned martial, and they talked long into the night once, up until Lysithea had to leave to take watch, of possibilities inherent to Lysithea's crazy idea.

And the two practiced, every day, until it hurt, and while she was sure she looked stupid at the training ground, felt like such a _child_ to be so weak, Leonie's glare was so fierce it stripped the paint off the walls and the mockery out of everone she looked at, and Lysithea was left to train in peace. She improved the hex on her blade, and her stance, and though it was just a week, she thought that a month of this might make a swordswoman of her yet, might reclaim something of what was taken from her.

But it was not just Leonie. From the fiercest Doe to the gentlest Stag did Lysithea's world turn; Ignatz had finished her painting first, presenting it to her midway through that week, the artist buckling down to get it done.

He painted her... like a hero. She looked... she looked good, she looked strong, she looked mighty. The antlers crowning her should have looked stupid, but they didn't, something in Ignatz's hands had turned the foolish adornment into something regal, he made a Queen out of her with just a little paint.

She'd been so touched she didn't know what to say, and he just smiled at her, a good-looking smile on his fine face.

( So good-looking and so fine... but she... cannot. Not when she can barely move or breathe, and would have to leave anyone she loved so much faster than they would leave her... it is _cruel,_ that Lysithea, just now beginning to look at other people and _want_ them, must think like a woman forty years her elder, her youth stolen from her. But to her credit, while Lysithea was a bit self-centered, she was not _cruel; s_ he would not force someone who loved her to watch her die. She would close her heart.)

Those were the big things, Mercedes' sweets and Leonie's training and Ignatz's painting... but there was more. The little things, too, the... the littlest things, that were different now. Ferdinand on night watch saluting her every night- and it was so strange to enjoy that, but she liked the recognition, even from someone as silly as the red-headed Adrestian. She liked the... the _respect_.

Just like the little bowl of sugar Lorenz had bought- _Lorenz_ , of all people!- as a celebration of her triumph over the Death Knight, it was all just... _respect_ , which she craved more than sweets. Other things... Claude's cheerful smiles, a small adornment left at her door made by Hilda's clever hands, a book of inspirational religious literature left with no note that she suspects came from Marianne, who was, of course, too skittish to present it properly. It is not to her taste... but she appreciates the thought, and the book, skimmed through just once, nonetheless takes pride of place on her shelf.

No one said anything about _why_ , but for once, Lysithea did not mind some pussyfooting, she... she was grateful for their caution, for the _respect_ they showed in obeying her wishes.

Maybe that was all it was. Pity lacked respect, but this... _sympathy_ they showed her, it was all _about_ respect, they honored her with their concern instead of putting her beneath them. This was not the condescending hand of compassion she had so feared, but something warm, warm and alive, a slap on the back that said she did not have to face tomorrow alone, not the pat on the head you gave kids and pets. This was a gift between equals, not an imposition upon inferiors; camaraderie, and comrades, not command.

It felt like... something she had once had, that had been broken, something she could not name, not just yet... but that was okay.

It was enough to simply have it. The thing could go unnamed. She was content with this.

( The word, _family,_ drifts through her head, ready to be acknowledged, waiting for her to be ready to do so, carried on a gentle breeze.)

And so Lysithea, angriest of the Deer, has one long week of peace.

-

Byleth stood over her mother's grave, and wished she felt something more than a dull ache in her wounded arm.

It was a lovely day. The wind danced over fertile earth, the sun shone in the sky, birds sang their long ballads of love and war. Insects buzzed about gayly in the light, carrying out the business of their billions of lives.

Yes, the world was in harmony here, just for a moment.

Garreg Mach had a lot of those moments, in Byleth's opinion, more than anywhere she'd ever been... or maybe it was just that she had never noticed, before. Byleth, who had wandered all over the continent, had never felt like this before- had never _felt_.

They said Garreg Mach was... holy. The Church folk, the commoners of Fodlan... they held Garreg Mach sacred.

She knelt down, reached out with her good hand, touched her mother's name on the grave gently.

_Sitri Eisner_.

She felt nothing but the stone under her fingertips. With a thin burst of what passed for irritation in her numbed skull, she withdrew her hand and stood up, still looking down at her mother's grave, still wanting to feel... _something_.

The wanting was the only thing she felt, though. And even that was new; she had not _wanted,_ not like this. She had... almost rudimentary emotions, beforehand. She was thirsty, or hungry, or sleepy, but it was all through a haze, like perceiving shapes hidden under thick muslin fabric. She _had_ loved her father, and... cared... for some others, but not... not like she was starting to, now.

In just a few months here, she was starting to... to _grow_ inside.

They said Garreg Mach was holy.

Byleth liked that idea, to be honest. They said sacred places had a power to heal wounds... and what could you call Byleth's heartless state, both literal and figurative, but a wound? And here, at Garreg Mach, she had finally found a medicine for that wound, in this place was needle and thread and ointment for her wound. She had, at last, found a way to... _fix_ this, this interminable wrongness, her strange, stillborn heart.

( Some part of Byleth- or some part of Sothis, given their connection- knew what she was, though in her conscious mind, she only knew she liked the metaphor of stillbirth for her emotions.)

The wound wasn't closed yet, but that was okay; the surgery was ongoing. She was becoming a person at last; the thread was made of gold, the needle from an antler's tip, the medicine comes to her carried by an Archbishops hands, and all of it was making her whole, here in this sanctified place.

( The regard in Rhea's eyes, generating warmth in her heart; the flashing of a smile in Claude's, that puts a riverwind to her feet. Roses and dandelions, serenades and whistling.)

Maybe the land was holy, or not... but to Byleth, it was a holy land now, for this place was making her _care_ and _feel_ , the way she had yearned to do all her life, that were denied to her through no fault of her own.

...But standing over her mother's grave, she felt nothing except a sort of longing _to_ feel... and it sickened her, that she could stand at her mother's grave, and feel so much _nothing_.

She was not as healed as she hoped, perhaps.

“ She would have been so proud of you.”

She whipped her head around, surprised; it was hard to sneak up on the mercenary, but then again, it was hard to sneak up on Claude, too, and he'd still been caught by surprise.

( Caught dead. Dead on the desk splattered on the floor and- _don't,_ Sothis' voice, so gentle. _Byleth, don't. That never happened. Be at peace, my little friend._ )

Soothed by the ghost's words, Byleth refocused on her new visitor.

He was an older man, not unhandsome, though worry lines had carved themselves deep into his brow. This was a man who smiled rarely and frowned often... which made it interesting that he smiled at her so much right now, he smiled at her as if she was a long-lost relative he was delighted to see. He wore the reddened robes that indicated high church rank, and a specialty- a Verrat, if Byleth did not mistake her guess.

( She'd been reading up on the Church's ranks- she hadn't liked not knowing what Rhea was talking about, at times in their teas, and so had set out to learn the Church better.)

That was interesting by itself. Verrats were rare; few had the talent to hurl that much fire magic.

“ I... apologies, I did not introduce myself,” he said, stopping a respectful distance from Byleth, not pressing. “ My name is Aelfric.”

“ I am Byleth Eisner,” the professor said. “ You... knew her?”

“ I did,” he said, and looked at her for a moment. “ You... look quite like her.”

“ I do?” Byleth said. Her father... he never talked of her mother... she hadn't even known her _name_ until she came here, and he told her about the grave. Even then he had not said it, she had to read it off the stone...

Aelfric nodded. “ You are much more solidly built- Jeralt's contribution, if I'm not wrong. Your mother, bless her, was a frail thing. Small, and little. You're taller and broader... but you have her eyes and general shape.”

He chuckled. “ She'd be delighted to see you. She always wanted to be bigger- more muscular, more powerful. Mostly wanted to get things off tall shelves without asking me or someone else for help.”

Her mother had been a little thing...? “ I... never knew,” Byleth said, and Aelfric nodded, solemnly.

“ Life is cruel and unfair,” he said. “ Of all its injustices, that Sitri never got to see you was the greatest of them; she loved you so much. She talked endlessly of you; I remember her waddling around here, big as a house- you were quite a big baby. She looked absurd when pregnant, her skinny form looking as though she'd managed to swallow a couple of roast chickens whole. I made fun of her for it a few times, and she always got mad, which was a rare delight. Your mother was quite the stoic; it was a victory, to see her fume.”

_Stoic._ Byleth knew that word well. It was what people who approved of her strangeness said of her, it was a _good_ word to be called, most times; she liked knowing that, she liked having that in common with this woman she had never gotten to know.

But another part of this stranger's words made her put two and two together. She had always been told her mother died in childbirth, though Jeralt- unlike so many men- never blamed her for it, did not take out the loss of his wife on the child left behind, and before- when she was so empty- it had not been something she thought about.

( In this world, it was because he blamed Rhea, and held Byleth innocent; but it was to Jeralt's credit that, in all the possible worlds of Fodlan, he _never_ held Sitri's death against Byleth; he was a better man than that.)

But now, now she was open, she was alive, she felt- and the math was simple. A big baby, a small woman. A death in childbirth. Byleth was a freak, not a fool; she knew what that equation meant, when you added it all together.

She'd known, of course, that her mother's death was her fault, that's how deaths in childbirth worked, but it was a dull thing outside Garreg Mach, a sort of fuzzy understanding of wrongdoing...

But now, oh, now Garreg Mach was where she stood, and all the emotions of the place struck her at once. Her wish was granted; she felt something at her mother's grave.

_Guilt_.

“ I... my large size,” she said, quietly, as something fell away inside her, she lurched where she stood. “ I was big, for a baby?”

“ Most certainly,” Aelfric said. “ In the short time Jeralt had you... I remember you. A big, healthy baby girl.”

“ My mother was small,” Byleth said, and looked back at her grave. Unseen behind her, Aelfric's face fell as he realized her thoughts.

“ Don't,” he said. “ She would hate for you to think that way. Childbirth is a hard and delicate process, and her and Jeralt knew the risks going in. She _loved_ you. You had no choice in what happened at your birth. No one asks to be made.”

“ ...They knew the risks?” Byleth said, all she could manage under the emotion now flooding her- this was like- _filth_ , inside, oh Goddess, was _this_ what guilt felt like? It felt like soured water, it felt like a flood in the back of her throat, she wanted to apologize or puke or maybe both. Sothis floated before her, tried to comfort- a feeling like peace from the back of her mind- but in the face of this hammering force, it proved a poor shield.

“ They did,” Aelfric said. “ I know, because me and Sitri were close. She talked to me of how she feared it might happen... but she thought it would be worth it. She wanted to have children- life had already taken so much from her. She could at least have a child. And we had the best doctors in the world here- they were all in attendance. Lady Rhea was quite interested in your birth.”

“ She was?” Byleth asked, clinging to anything that wasn't how _sick_ she felt, how _sorry_ , how... she wanted to apologize to this woman she had never met, never known. She has only a vague image of her, one born less of her father, who never spoke of her, and more of this stranger's words, the picture painted still too new and vague and incomplete to be anything more than an illusion. “ I... why?”

“ Jeralt was her favorite knight captain,” he said. “ Sitri was just a nun here at Garreg Mach... but Jeralt had saved Rhea's life, quite dramatically, and then been a knight captain for some years. When the two were married, Rhea performed the ceremony- though I must admit, she was always awkward around your mother. I think she felt some guilt for not really knowing one of her own nuns very well.”

( Sothis felt the faintest twinge of wrongness there, sensed that a great cosmic irony was passing everyone here by, but ignored it, focused on easing her host's terrible pain.)

“ Ah,” Byleth said, not because she understood but because she had no more stomach for conversation, it was all just distractions from this... this terrible... _truth_.

She had killed her mother.

Was... _this_ why she was the way she was? Some curse, some punishment, for murdering her mother- her father never talked of her. She had assumed it was because he missed her mother so much, but now- now that Byleth can _feel_ , even in her awkward, limited way- she wondered if, perhaps, her father felt she didn't _deserve_ to know. Why would he describe the victim to the murderer, after all?

Perhaps her father loved her- and she questioned even that, as her guilt, which she had no experience handling, kicked the flimsy pillars of her emotional stability apart- but even if he _did_ love her, he had to wonder if her mother had _hated_ her in her final moments, was that why he never talked of her? Even the conversation they'd had about this grave had been short, had not... had not included her name.

She had killed her mother.

Something came from Byleth's eyes- what? Just a few quiet things in her eyes, running down her cheeks- but until Claude's death, she had _never_ cried, and it was still so unfamiliar to her, this idea, she reached up as her breath hitched in her throat and touched the tears that ran down her face.

She sobbed, once, not a pretty or elegant thing but something gut-ugly and wretched. Then again, and again.

She had killed this woman, _she_ was responsible for this...

“ Byleth?” Aelfric said, and then she heard him approaching, a dim understanding through her tears and guilt. “ Oh, _child_.”

A warm hand on her shoulder. Byleth leaned into it, still crying, and soon the stranger wrapped his arms protectively around her, whispering into her hair, holding her like parents hold their children.

“ Shh, shh. She loved you. Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault,” Aelfric said, as he held Sitri's daughter in his arms. “ She knew she might die. She made Jeralt promise not to hate you, if that happened; she loved you. She loved you.”

Byleth wanted her father, not this stranger... it should be Jeralt here, not this man... but her father was gone, off on some mission or another- he was so _busy_ these days- they'd had so few opportunities to talk.

And she had no one else here, no one else who knew her mother, who knew what she'd _done_... and his arms were warm, and his tone soothing.

So Byleth put her face into Aelfric's shoulder and wept.

-

The Flame Emperor looked down upon her opponents. Small things, enough that even her short form could loom over them; a nice sensation, for a woman destined to never reach the vaunted heights of five foot four inches.

( She'd heard Sylvain joke that the real reason she employed Hubert was so she had someone to get things off high shelves for her... and she _hated_ to admit it, but the womanizer wasn't quite wrong.)

Her opponent was the great stag, whose grass-green eyes dared her from across the field. Clever little shit. He had some scheme or another- he _always_ did- and if she could not figure it out, some of her soldiers would pay with their lives. She couldn't understand it, though; his moves seemed... counterproductive. Bizarre... she could not parse out the scheme. Some of them had already paid the price for her misunderstanding.

Carefully, Edelgard moved a pawn forward.

“ Sure you want to do that?” Claude said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“ I'm... _less_ sure than I was,” she admitted- but let go of the piece anyway. “ Sadly, the rules force me to move pieces I touch.”

“ Wait, that's a rule?” Hilda said, turning to them. She was looking over a small stack of paper- Edelgard's quick glance at it had revealed it was a manifest of all books available at the school's library, alongside short descriptions of their contents. The girl must be doing research on something. “ What if you change your mind?”

“ You must do that _before_ you touch the piece,” Edelgard said. “ Once you touch it, you are committed to moving it. If the piece has multiple moves it can make, you can choose between them, but you still must move.”

“ Poor pieces,” Claude said with a sigh. “ Always having to move around. I guess that sounds like hell to you, Hilda.”

“ You know it,” she said. “ Laziest girl at Garreg Mach, right here!”

_Lazy_ , Edelgard thought, but with effort she did not give the girl a disbelieving glance, and even her eyebrow, well worked and well used to the work, failed to raise.

Lazy... maybe once... but not now.

To her surprise, Hubert spoke up, from his position next to her, where he was doing their homework for both of them, writing in Edelgard's hand with his left and his own with his right, and managing to accurately write in Edelgard's “voice” on her paper.

( It was a mark of how strange their life was that they both thought this was normal.)

“ Miss Goneril,” Hubert said, “ if you are _lazy_ , I am interested in seeing what you would consider _diligent._ ”

Hilda's eyes opened wide at what was, for Hubert, almost unbelievably effusive praise. “ I... thank you?” she said, nonplussed. “ I don't think I'm all _that_ impressive... but I thank you for the compliment.”

“ Eh, don't mind her,” Claude said. “ She just has Holst for a brother, it skews her perception of how great she is. She doesn't listen to me about it either.”

Hilda reached over and gently smacked the back of Claude's head. “ You're lucky I like you, I should beat you for that.”

“ Well, I've been struck from behind, betrayed by my closest ally- clearly the game must be declared a win in my favor,” Claude said quickly. “ After all, I have been nobly wounded in the field by treachery, surely that deserves a ceasefire that's favorable to me. Right, princess?”

Edelgard snorted. “ While the White King admires the Black King's attempt at diplomacy, she says no. The war continues.”

“ Shame!” Claude said- and moved another piece, once again to no discernible plan. This was driving Edelgard insane. _What_ was he after?

Right then, Hubert tapped her, for Caspar was approaching, his face its usual mix of directionless intensity and aggression. For all that Edelgard owed House Bergliez- and they would be rewarded in time for their loyalty- it had always amused her to see Caspar, short, furious Caspar, as their representative here, in the last class of Garreg Mach- not exactly putting their best foot forward.

“ Hey Edelgard,” Caspar said, giving a brief wave to her. “ And Claude and Hilda and Hubert, how ya'll doing?”

“ Good,” Edelgard said. She actually welcomed the distraction; it gave her more time to figure out what Claude was after on the board. “ What brings you over here?”

“ Well, I'm real sorry to bother you while you're on a date,” Caspar began, “ But, uh, had a question.”

“ It's not a date,” Claude and Edelgard replied in unison, and missed the glance their retainers shot each other, a look that said _I think they believe it._ The two lovebirds, meanwhile, looked at each and laughed.

“ Okay,” Claude said, “ that probably didn't help convince you, but whatever. You need me to bail?”

“ Willing to forfeit our game, Claude? How noble of you,” Edelgard mused, while Claude reacted with mock horror.

“ So cruel! An offer made in peace, and you drop this... _betrayal_? Well, now I have to stay, even if he is discussing the darkest of House secrets.”

Edelgard nearly lost it at that, almost burst out laughing. If Caspar knew _any_ dark secrets of her House, he'd be spewing them everywhere; it's why she hadn't recruited him. She doubted he knew anything of value.

( Irony was getting a workout these days.)

“ Well, you _are_ curious about so much. Maybe I'm feeling benevolent,” Edelgard said, her attention on Claude- so she missed the look of abject _terror_ on Caspar's face, a look Hubert noted but did not think much of. Who knew what the dumbass was thinking? Maybe he feared he really _was_ revealing House secrets- no reason to think on it more.

“ Well, it's... umm, it's not that big of a deal,” Caspar said. “ I just want to transfer.”

“ Really?” Edelgard said, wheeling around to look at him. “ I must say, I'm surprised. You'd be the first Bergliez to switch classes.”

“ Really?” Caspar said, then straightened up, like the idea pleased him, in some obscure way. “ Well, I'll be first then. That's not a bad thing to be.”

“ Maybe,” Edelgard said. “ Who are you switching to?”

“ Blue Lions,” he said. “ No offense, but I gotta carve my own path- and I think if I can impress some of them, I might be able to get on as a knight or a retainer somewhere. They like martial prowess, right? That's all I got.”

Edelgard nodded her head. “ Understandable... hmm. A moment.”

She leaned towards Hubert, stealing his quill briefly from him and writing on a blank piece of paper he quickly produced. She wrote a message to him in the shorthand cypher they used out of sheer force of habit.

_ Opinion? _

Hubert pondered it.

**_Opposed. Might join Faerghus in war. But opposition light. Caspar not important. Might stay on our side anyway due to family; if not, death isn't important._**

A fair assessment, and more or less Edelgard's own conclusions.

_ Agreed. Granting request. _

Edelgard turned back to Caspar, returning the quill as she did so, who had just been judged and found wanting by both of them.

“ Well, if you must- but I ask that, before you make any decisions that far-reaching, you come to me. There may be a place in Adrestia for a warrior.”

He nodded, and gave her a big, wide grin. “ Woohoo! Yeah, thanks! Oh, yeah, one more thing. I want to drag Linhardt with me. Lions don't have a healer without Marianne, so I figured they might be more likely to let me in if I show up with him in tow. Also, personally, I think he thinks he'd have more time for naps in the Lions, and he wants to stock up before he has to go home and be all House Hevring Head.”

A position he'd be able to take; Hevring had risen against her family in the Coup, was partly responsible for her torments... but Edelgard was going to spare them. When she had first been taken out of the cells, the Agarthans had presented her before Duke Aegir and the other traitors; she had nothing on but thin rags, just strips of cloth at that point, presented like meat to butchers before the gathered council.

It had been House Hevring's leader, Linhardt's father, who had gotten up out of his seat and given her his cloak, to cover her shame... and for that reason, Edelgard would spare the family the purges that were coming. She did not forget a kindness done to her.

“ Understood,” Edelgard said, as those memories flashed through her mind, leaning back to Hubert, who already had the pen fresh-dipped in ink and ready to go.

_ Opinion? _

**_More opposed, but- wait, an idea. This presents an opportunity. No Linhardt means no healers for us, either, but we have the real healers in the army to back us up for real work and the school doesn't matter. With no Caspar or Linhardt, however, we can disguise our actions as House events; might make it easier to move around, which is important with the Deer running patrols now. More valuable even than Linhardt, for all that he's a good researcher and healer... and Caspar's right, he'll be heading back to be Hevring's heir anyway, there's no risk that Linhardt will abandon us when the real battle starts. If we let Caspar keep a connection to Adrestia, he'll be more likely to return as well, to the extent that matters. We weren't planning to induct them into our group; this might be the path of least resistance. I'm in favor._**

_ A good idea, and I concur. Granting request. _

Edelgard turned back to Caspar, as Hubert quickly folded the paper away to be burnt later. It was a risk just to write it down at all, but you had to communicate to get anything done... and the risk was small.

( You could always trip on a rock going out your front door and break your neck, but you still had to go outside anyway.)

“ Request granted. But, the same to him- before any Faerghi offers are entertained, report back to me.”

Caspar nodded, and flashed a big thumbs up. “ Will do! Woohoo!”

He tore off at a run, and Edelgard rolled her eyes, and thought no more of him.

( And running away from her, his heart pounding, Caspar realized he'd done it- the first task was complete, the first part of the plan Linhardt had helped him refine until it was something worth doing. Now to convince Dimitri to let him in... soon, soon, there'd be allies, people to help him stop this war.)

“ So why'd he ask you?” Claude said, as Caspar left and everyone turned back to the board. “ Thought Manuela handled that kind of thing for the Eagles.”

“ We're not the Alliance,” she said, though her tone was teasing and friendly. “ We have a functioning government. I have veto rights over inductees to the class and those who wish to leave.”

“ A functioning government? That must be weird to have,” Claude joked. Give Leceisterfolk credit- they were self-aware about themselves.

“ What's the old joke?” Edelgard said. “ Leicester isn't a country, it's a bunch of people standing in close formation?”

“ Not wrong,” Claude said. “ Being Grand Duke... gonna be fuuuuuuun....”

Edelgard chuckled as she continued to study the board. Despite the distraction, no ideas had occurred to her just yet...

“ Hey, speaking of our future reigns. I meant to ask you,” Claude said, interrupting. “ Your future title is going to be Emperor, right?”

“ Yes,” Edelgard said, already aware where this was going. “ Let me guess- you want to know why it's not Empress.”

“ Got it in one!” he said. “ Unless it's embarrassing or private. Or boring. Don't give it to me if it's boring.”

“ It is boring, but I hate getting the question asked, so you'll just have to live with it,” Edelgard said, studying the board as her mouth moved by rote. “ Though the question isn't _that_ irritating, and I suppose you have no particular reason to know this. It has to do with linguistics.”

“ Language? Everybody here speaks the same language, though,” Claude said. “ Church Standard, spread with Seiros' teachings all over Fodlan. Meant to make it so everyone could communicate and be at peace, which... hasn't really worked out, but noble effort, I guess, points for trying?”

“ Perhaps,” Edelgard said. “ But while all Fodlan speaks one language now, that wasn't true in the past. Southern Adrestia- and more specifically, Enbarr- were part of a different language group from the rest of the continent. The language had no gender differences in it, unlike the northern language groups. Much of that language's habits were inducted when Church Standard was enforced.”

( She wanted to change that, too, revert Adrestia to its true, native language... but even Edelgard, the arch-revanchist, who despite her revolutionary leanings was in many ways the most conservative person in Fodlan, recognized that there were practical limits on her power.)

“ So instead of Empress, it's just Emperor for everybody,” Claude said.

“ Correct,” Edelgard said. “ Which reminds me- while I know you have fun calling me princess, technically my title back home is Prince. Crown Prince, since I'm the inheritor.”

( By default, all other candidates being dead- but no, she let her rage eat that thought with its burning teeth, and protect the rest of her. For all the problems it caused her, her rage was the only reason she could function at all- it was a defense mechanism, protecting her mind from the horrors she had endured.)

“ Apologies!” Claude said, and there was a taste of something honest in the flippancy, some stone-cold truth in the cheery deceit. “ Titles matter- a person should be called what they want. What would you prefer?”

...She almost just said to keep calling her princess, but she honestly didn't like that... what _would_ she like Claude to call her?

( An image flashing through her mind, Claude beneath her, _call me your Emperor_...)

...Oh.

Edelgard did not blush, but it _was_ a close thing.

Well. She... apparently had a bit of a perverted streak to her! Hmm.

( As a certain Faerghi healer, now a Deer, might say- _my, my!_ )

But a non-pornographic suggestions had merit, a nickname she now heard only on friendly lips that she had grown... fond of.

“ Call me Edie,” she said. “ Friends do.”

A second's glance from Hubert- but he accepted, and it was no more than that, just a second.

“ I'd be glad to,” Claude said. “ And apologies for using the wrong title, I know how irritating it can be, to hear people use terms you don't like.”

Edelgard caught Hilda's guilty look, and wondered if Almyran skin and Goneril heritage had some friction between them.

( She'd better not have said anything about Claude. Edelgard's hands itched to punch her just for the thought. Almyran or Fodlan, it was all human... and Claude... Claude would be special no matter his birth.)

“ Understood,” she said calmly, looking at the board, their refuge in these conversations... and that's when it hit her. “ You don't have a plan, do you, Claude?”

He debated lying- but he thought she might laugh if he didn't, maybe even give him one of those bright smiles.

“ Nope!” he responded, and his unexpected honesty made her laugh... and that was such a beautiful thing that even the ensuing pummeling he took on the board didn't dampen his mood.

( They waved each other off with smiles, and felt good all the rest of that day.)

-

Byleth pulled away from the stranger, and there was one advantage to her total misunderstanding of society; she had no idea she should be embarrassed. She'd been crying, and he'd offered to hug her, so clearly that was okay, right?

Sothis knew better... but she did not speak up. Let her host have her peace, for now. She needed it.

So instead of being harangued by her little ghost, Byleth gently healed her arm, which had begun to ache again- though the man had been careful not to touch it while hugging her- and said the first thing to come to mind.

“ Thank you,” she said. Aelfric nodded.

“ I am glad to help,” he said, before taking a few steps back. “ I apologize if I was too forward. Dangers of being a Verrat, I suppose.”

“ Danger?” Byleth asked. Aelfric nodded.

“ We Verrat are fire mages,” he said, “ but... well. The mere fact of being a Verrat indicates one has a powerful affinity for fire... which means one is passionate, to a degree most are not. It can indicate a certain... failure to respect boundaries, due to enthusiasm. I try to be respectful; I am a Verrat, but that does not mean I am an _animal._ ”

Byleth nodded. “ You were... proper,” she said, not because she really knew if he had been- who knew? Not Byleth, who had the social grace of a kleptomaniac zombie- but because she had been comforted by his actions, and did not feel hurt by them, and that meant that, at least to her, he had been more than proper.

“ I'm glad to hear it,” he said. “ Particularly Sitri's daughter.”

Byleth didn't want to think about that, about the guilt still in her guts; about her thoughts, that her father might, in some way, resent her, a thought that horrified her in ways she couldn't unravel just at this moment.

So instead, she said the first thing to pop into her head.

“ The grave- it's well tended. Was that... you?”

“ Yes,” he said. “ Me and Sitri- we grew up together. It is the least of what I owe her.”

He looked at her grave, his face outwardly calm, but... something in his eyes, a fire undying, something Byleth did not see so much as simply _understand_ , with whatever strange senses dictated her unusual relationship with light.

Sothis spoke up, sensing the same things, and understanding them better.

_I think he was in love with your mother._

She intended this to be a secret; but Byleth was so shaken by the flood of emotions she'd experienced that she blurted it out.

“ You were in love with her,” she said... then realized she'd crossed a line. Why, this was an act so brazenly crude that she didn't need Sothis yelling at her to figure it out; even Byleth wasn't _that_ socially stupid.

( Though Sothis _was_ yelling at her, asking her what in the world had possessed her. Byleth, respecting her right to yell at her for being stupid, did not point out that Sothis was, in fact, what was possessing her, and she'd said it first.)

“ Sorry, I'm sorry,” she said. “ I shouldn't have said that.”

Aelfric turned a surprised gaze on her, and for a moment let his surprise color his face... but then he shook his head, and chuckled. “ I do hope I wasn't that obvious to her,” he said, and his smile was warm and calm. “ I never wanted her to know, not once I realized she loved your father.”

“... Really?” Byleth said. She knew little of love; she had just figured out friendship. Romance was a tomorrow thing, to be worried about in its own time... but she knew enough to know that few took a loss this well. “ You seem... okay... with that.”

“ I loved her,” he said, with the tone of one who is imparting a simple fact. “ I always have. When she married Jeralt, and I stood there as one of her witnesses, I loved her; when I woke up this morning, I loved her. All my life, I have loved her.”

He shrugged gently. “ But this is true, too: she did not love me.”

“ I... am sorry?” Byleth said, not sure what to say. The church man shook his head.

“ Don't be. You are not owed the love of another, no matter how deep your own feelings run,” Aelfric said. “ And, loving her, I wanted what was _best_ for her- what made her happiest, what she wanted. Love does not have to be a jealous thing, though few realize that.”

He looked at her grave with strange tenderness in his face. “ How could I say I loved her, if that love simply meant I wanted her to be mine?”

Hmm. Byleth... didn't know what to say to that, and for once, Sothis had no commentary, either. A strange man, this Aelfric... but that sounded like wisdom, like maturity, to put oneself behind the needs and wants of one you loved.

“ So... her and my father... you were okay with it?”

“ More than okay,” he said. “ I was enthusiastic, once I heard. She had admired Jeralt for some time, despite the age gap between them; it made Jeralt deeply uncomfortable, but there had always been something ancient about Sitri, something that made her... well, this must sound absurd, but she felt older than the monastery did, sometimes. Sitri was an interesting person.”

( Sothis thought she heard something- some echo she had heard with someone else's ears- but... no, it was gone, what was it, that she almost knew? She was so incomplete, where was the rest of her?)

Aelfric, not knowing of the ghost's torment, carried on. “ At any rate, eventually she decided she would go after him, and she pursued him _relentlessly._ It was quite the comedic spectacle. You'd see them out there on the grounds, Jeralt trying to disguise the fact that he was fleeing Sitri as she slowly pursued him, like some deranged take on the tale of the rabbit and the tortoise.”

He chuckled, looking out over the great ravine... but seeing only those days of old. “ It was _absurd._ Jeralt was always finding something else he had to be doing right that second, and she was always just walking along after him, never quickly... but never stopping, either. He leapt into the pond once, and swam to the other end, just to escape her... but eventually, he had to talk to her, he had to admit that most of the problem was from _his_ end. He was so insecure... ”

“ My father?” Byleth said, trying to picture it in her head and getting nothing. Her father was the _Blade Breaker._ She found that she literally could not imagine him being... _insecure._

“ Oh, absolutely! I remember Rhea laughing about the pond incident until she cried,” Aelfric said. “ He did what he could, but against such a siege the firmest castle would fall. He told her why he didn't want anything with her... he feared he was too old, too different. He feared he would exploit her, that she would be naive and he would be cruel without meaning to be... so many worries, and to his credit, most were legitimate... but Sitri was a special sort of person, as I said. She countered his arguments and told him she'd leave him be, but only if he promised to think on what she'd said... and that in a month's time, she wanted him to court her, if that was his choice.”

“ He thought on it for two weeks, then disappeared... and came back, just in time. One montha after they had talked, Jeralt came to Sitri with a bundle of rare flowers in hand. I never saw Sitri so happy...”

“ She liked flowers?”

“ She loved them,” Aelfric said. “ She was going to be the greenhouse keeper before she... well.”

The grave, looming over them even as they looked down on it.

Aelfric spoke again after a moment's silence. “ But they courted, and courted and courted. Years of it. Jeralt loved her so much, but he was still so unsure... but she managed to convince him to stop getting in his own way, and take what she was offering. I was floored when she told me that she'd proposed, and he'd said yes; I'd assumed it'd take a few more years.”

“ She proposed to him?” Byleth asked.

“ Yes,” Aelfric said. “ She got on one knee and everything, apparently- at least that's what she said. It was magnificent to hear- and probably terribly embarrassing for your father. He always seemed so surprised whenever she was good to him; I think he had it in his head that he didn't deserve her. Or maybe it was just Sitri being Sitri. She was such a magnificent person; stoic, bothered by little... but when she smiled, she was as bright as the sun. Everyone loved her.”

“ ...Good,” Byleth said. Daring to look at her mother's grave, she saw that the nothing she'd feared to see was gone; there was a shadow there now, that might been named Sitri, long ago, a more definitive answer to the complicated, eternal question, _what were they like?_

There was still guilt... but she felt better, after crying, and it felt like something she might be able to pick up now, that she might have strength to carry.

“ I must take my leave,” Aelfric said, looking at a nearby clock, “ but feel free to come find me if you wish to speak.”

Byleth nodded her head... then looked back at the grave.

“ Thank you,” she said. “ For tending the grave... while we were gone.”

He smiled at her. “ Least I could do,” he said... but before he left, Sothis prompted Byleth to ask him one more question.

“ What flowers did she like?”

-

Hilda stood in the library, looking at the words on a book's spine, and wondered what the hell she was doing.

It was an old feeling for her.

Used to, it applied to... everything. She was always unsure... and she _hated_ that feeling, so it got easier to just... give up. Let Holst take care of it, the way he took care of everything, just... embrace being the loser kid. She made herself funny and cute and lazy and no one asked her to do anything, she turned being useless into an art form. It was almost like she was a pet cat that no one expected to go mousing; no one _expected_ anything out of her, and the unsure feeling went away. She was no longer plagued with uncertainty, because she had stopped trying, she had stopped _caring_.

Then she met Claude.

Claude... Claude wouldn't _accept_ that she was nobody, he seemed to... to just trust her. He had glanced at Hilda and seen something inside her Hilda was _sure_ she didn't have, he had looked at her useless form and somehow he thought he saw _gold_ inside her. He saw someone _better_.

And he trusted that person with... everything.

Into Hilda's surprised and unsteady arms had Claude dumped all the important duties of a retainer. Lorenz had thought he'd be picked, and Hilda's memory of his face staring aghast as Claude chose her remained fresh and sweet in her mind. Hilda von Goneril, least member of the greatest of Leceister's houses, was chosen to serve the chosen heir of the Grand Duke, and she didn't know just _why._

But... she did know that she didn't want to fail Claude, she didn't want him to be disappointed in her. She liked that he saw something great in her, she liked that it didn't occur to him to even ask if she was able to do what he'd tasked her with or not. He simply knew she could do it.

And somehow, that certainty translated to her; it was... easy, to serve Claude.

She didn't have to be unsure in his service, because Claude was so sure she could handle whatever job he assigned her that it made _her_ sure, too. She didn't have to fear screwing it up, Claude knew she'd manage it. His faith in her was so strong that it pushed her to be the person he thought she was, no matter that she knew she wasn't, not really; if Claude thought she was able to do it, than by the Goddess, she _was._

She had leaned so hard on that faith in her over the last few months, as so much happened to the Deer... the Tomb and Byleth's ghost and everything else that'd happened... clinging to that rock in her soul. Claude believed in her. Claude _trusted_ her, and trust was the rarest and most powerful commodity in the Alliance, the nation of schemers could not buy an inch of trust with all their gold, and here Claude was giving her miles of it for free.

She could lean on that, when she was too weak to walk on her own. She loved him, albeit not in the way of roses- though if she'd not had her sweet Marianne, who knew? It would be easy, to love a man who looked at you, and saw only greatness.

After all, he made her... happy. Not the way Marianne did, with her cute expressions and her gentle touch and the joy she showed in Hilda's presence; no, that happiness was fire, and the happiness Claude gave her was more... solid. Happy in a grounded kind of way; in this breezy, long-winded man, Hilda had somehow found a rock to cling to. He made her comfortable in her own skin.

She'd never had that before. Being Holst's sibling was a long experience in realizing one was not the protagonist of life's story; Holst was heroic, he was fabled of old. Holst was the kind of person history would look back on and talk about as one of the important men of his day... and Hilda was the kind of person who would end up a footnote in Holst's book.

( No one wrote of the horror of being the sibling of the great hero.)

But be all her sins and flaws remembered, Hilda loved her brother, Holst had always loved her and she'd returned that love, and she would not ask him to dim his brilliance just so that she could feel more his equal. She was not that petty, not that cruel, not that jealous; let Holst shine, let his incredible talent shake the world.

Hilda would just accept her place, so far behind him, and say nothing more, even though it ached in her guts, to be so constantly compared to him, and be found so wanting.

But she had sewn that up inside herself, that terrible sensation of being _unworthy_ , and carried it, the thing that hurt her, and she hoped Holst never knew, she hoped that he never once paused in his ascension to glory because he saw he was hurting her. It was not his fault, and not his burden to carry.

She had simply... tucked it away, into some dark corner of her head, where it would hurt only her, and no one else, and she had gotten used to the pain. She'd looked, but she'd never found an antidote for it... until now.

Until Claude.

But at the Meeting- and that was how she'd think of it the rest of her life, the Meeting, capital included- she'd seen it, the briefest flash in his eyes, when secrets were being told. The quiet moment where Claude had made a decision _not_ to tell a secret, to hide himself.

( The one danger Claude hadn't predicted in his relationship with Hilda- as he saw her, she saw him, too.)

Hilda was almost certain she knew his secret, too; it was written on his skin. Or more accurately, it _was_ his skin. No one could look at Claude and not know that there was something foreign about him, even if you never heard him talk, never heard the way that, in deepest distress, he had a tendency to elongate his vowels, just a fraction. Claude was the best liar and the best schemer at Garreg Mach but the one problem lies could never overcome was the simple fact they weren't true; under stress, even the best artifice showed cracks, even Claude's deceptions began to break.

Everyone knew. Hilda had overheard conversations about it from the other Deer, and old rumors come back to tell them the truth of Claude's origins in elder whispers; a daughter of Riegan, who had run off to live with an Almyran, a terrible scandal in their parent's time. Claude is the product of that scandal, Hilda would bet her teeth on it, and so would Lorenz, who had told her of it, his family relishing any suffering come to the Riegan name.

Grand Duke von Riegan must _really_ be running out of relatives, to name Claude his heir.

( Not quite the truth; many fairer-skinned relatives does the Grand Duke have, who could have been named. But when Claude appeared in his court, he realized the young man's genius, realized that he was greater than any of his relatives... and finding Claude his worthiest possible successor, the Grand Duke made his own effort to atone for the daughter he disowned, and named her son his heir.)

He was half-Almyran, and no one talked of it. Reasons varied; Lorenz, to his credit, said he wanted to beat Claude on his own terms, not with underhanded tricks like poking at his ethnicity. Ferdinand seemed to believe that Claude's half-Fodlan heritage wiped out the Almyran. Marianne- sweet Marianne- didn't care one way or another, too wrapped up in her own business.

( The Beast- a Crest of curses- Hilda could not imagine Marianne's strength, to speak of it to them, her sweet girl, whom she loved so much. If her Marianne was a Beast, then Hilda would be glad to be her Beauty, to give her peace and rest and calm, to hold her in her arms until she no longer feared her own blood.)

Most of the rest kept their own counsel, but Lysithea had come out in support of their leader in one discussion, as talk turned in the group to his skin; Almyrans were human too, the young girl had said, and she'd kick the shit out of anyone who questioned Claude's ability because of it. “ Fools,” she'd declared them.

A surprise; but Lysithea has been held back for artificial reasons, too, for her youth, and perhaps she viewed race as just another false barrier.

So they knew, it was impossible _not_ to know... but Claude still would not talk of it openly.

Hilda knew why.

( _Almyrans are deceptive brutes_ , she'd said once to him, unthinking, and who knew that your own words could be a ghost, haunting you?)

Unacknowledged, things stayed as they were, they treated him like a person; but acknowledged... he feared they would treat him different. Worse. The way people treat Cyril, who was only treated as well as he was for fear of Rhea's wrath and because of his own usefulness. No one his own age befriended him, no one talked to him of anything but Church work. No wonder the only subject the young worker felt comfortable talking about was Rhea; he had nothing else in his life. Fodlan had not let him participate in anything else.

( She... she should befriend that child. She... she couldn't _unsee_ it now, she saw the way he was treated... there was a burden on her now.)

And maybe Hilda had more right to hate Almyrans that most, because she was a Goneril, and they had fought each other so often; she had known people who were dead now, dead at Almyran hands... but the battles had never been one way, it was not always noble Goneril against monstrous Almyrans. They had raided into their territory, too, sometimes they were not the noble Black but aggressive White, to use the metaphor Claude was so fond of. There... there were people in Almyra, who must _hate_ her family, who had fields of dead they were owed by her and her kin.

She wondered how they thought of those things. She knew so little of the Almyran people. If Claude was Almyran- and he was- then she knew even less than she'd thought. It'd be easier if he was raised in Fodlan, if she could blame his upbringing for his nature... but all information indicated he had come to Derdriu from outside, and the lilt of his tongue indicated a man who had learned their language second, not first. He was Almyran-raised; half-Almyran by blood, but by culture, he was entirely of the desert.

She was sure he was exceptional, over there, as exceptional as he was over here... but still he belonged to that place.

Claude was an Almyran.

Thus, the book.

She'd checked the library's manifest, and found, to no real surprise, that it had few records of Almyra. Oh, it had multiple copies of books detailing various “glorious” wars against that people, and a few works analyzing the Locket's creation and the Church's hopes of promoting pan-Fodlan unity with it...

But as for information about them... she'd only found one.

A book on Almyran religion, strangely enough; _Thus Spake Almyr_ , by some Fodlan priest, written centuries ago. How it was in here, she didn't know.

( Seteth's fault, actually; he had never entirely agreed with Rhea's plan, and in the time since, he had kept one book of a human religion that predated even Sothis herself; just something to turn to, when humans needed spiritual guidance, the dragon uncomfortable advising members of humanity with words derived only from Rhea's artificial construction. He did not believe in the Almyran faith... but it had a better chance of being true than the thing he'd helped build, that he _knew_ was false.)

Not what she'd hoped for... but she supposed if she had nothing else... it wasn't like learning about the Church told you about all of Fodlan.

It sure didn't hurt, though.

She checked the book out.

( She read it that night, still uncertain, trying to learn of a foreign people through their faith, itself filtered through a Fodlan voice... but some things stayed true. One in particular stuck with her _\- Devotion, like fire, goeth upward._ )

-

The greenhouse was empty today; besides the greenhouse keeper and Byleth herself, there was only Dedue, gently caring for a strange flower in the corner.

Unfortunately, he was standing right next to the flowers Byleth needed.

“ Umm,” the graceless young woman began. “ Apologies.”

“ Hm?” Dedue said, rising up- and Byleth hadn't realized how _big_ the Lion was. Perhaps because he always seemed to hunch, and hide away.

“ Sorry,” Byleth said, “ I need those flowers for my mother's grave.”

“ Ah,” Dedue replied. “ Allow me to move out of your way.”

“ Now hold on,” the greenhouse keeper said, having bustled over. “ Do you know how to dig them up right, missy?”

“ No,” Byleth answered. “ It can't be that hard, though.”

Sothis slapped her forehead. _Don't be an asshole to the greenhouse keeper!_

“ Sorry, I... didn't mean to be rude,” Byleth said, as the greenhouse keeper gave her a glower. She turned to the room's Lion as a few others filtered into the greenhouse.

“ Dedue, would you be a sweetheart and show this professor how to get the flowers out without killing them? I apologize, but I've got customers incoming.”

“ It's no trouble,” the big man said. “ Professor, if you would simply follow my example...”

Gentle brown hands, digging into good black earth, with care and concern evident in each motion. Byleth followed along, and Dedue did not press on her for conversation, for which she was terribly grateful. She felt tired of talk, after all that had passed between her and Aelfric, and she was still shaken from the

_guilt_

That had hit her, that she had not been prepared for. Learning to feel was a double-edged sword, apparently, and she had made the mistake of trying to grip the blade; she will have to be more careful, in the future. She hadn't known emotions could... could _hurt_ , she'd felt pain before when her students were in danger.

But she had always been able to reset in time, turn the burgeoning pain into the sweetness of saving them. Even when Claude had died, and she'd had to see it- the first time she'd ever cried- she had been able to turn that into that terrible red light, channel it into protective fury and slamming fists and thundering spells.

But there was nothing to _do_ with this pain, it just... sat inside her, rolled around. Her tears had released some of it, but it still curled in her guts, she wondered... Aelfric said her mother had loved her, but how could that be? She had never known her. Her last moments must have been agony, as she realized her daughter was killing her...

A gentle and warm hand on her own, which had gone still in the cool dirt.

“ Professor?” Dedue asked, and on the man of Duscur's face was only open worry and concern, shining in his green eyes, different from Claude's; the Leceisterman's eyes were the sharp green of blades of grass, but Dedue's were calm jade.

“ Sorry,” she said, and withdrew her hand. She'd went still- Sothis was telling her she'd just stopped a few seconds ago, she'd been trying to wake her up but Byleth couldn't hear her- she refocused her gaze on the man of Duscur. “ I apologize.”

“ It is nothing,” he said. “ Here- the flowers you requested. Do you know how to plant them?”

...No, she didn't. “ I... no.”

More guilt, more _shame_ , she did not even know how to plant flowers on her own mother's grave, and that was a _stupid_ thing to get caught up thinking about but the snake in her guts still curled, still bit at her corners, spat venom into her veins.

“ Would you like assistance?” Dedue offered. He had nothing in particular to do at the moment... and clearly the Professor needed help, so he would offer it.

( Had Duscur not been sacrificed to Agarthan ambition and Faerghus bloodlust, Dedue would be a cook like his parents, and would be renowned in that land for his generosity and charity; but that is a timeline even Byleth could not create.)

“ I...” What to do? Yet another stranger, intruding on this private moment... but she did not know how to plant the flowers. What else could she do? “ Please.”

He followed her, carrying her flowers- and Byleth, distracted with the rotting rope curled up in her belly, did not see how others looked at them, how faces turned sour and ugly in the presence of the man of Duscur.

( But Sothis did, and filed it away for later.)

After a walk that felt like all eternity to Byleth, they came to stand before her mother's grave.

“ ...Oh,” Dedue said, as he understood, and Byleth braced herself, waiting for more... but Dedue was a _good_ man, and respectful, so he voiced only one of the questions inside himself.

“ Where do you want them placed?”

Byleth, surprised- not expecting this regard- pointed to the middle, her words still locked in her throat; and Dedue, with infinite care, planted the flowers she had loved over Sitri's grave, quiet, letting Byleth collect herself, recover a bit from the emotions gripping her tight.

She thought that, perhaps, if she'd been normal ( _not wrong_ ), she could have mastered this; but she had never felt something this strong and this hurtful before, and she was so unused to emotions, it was all she could do to wrangle down this beast inside her.

When Dedue arose, he said, softly, “ I shall take my leave.”

But before he made any move to go, he offered, gently and without judgment, “ Unless you need someone with you.”

“ I... I will be fine,” Byleth lied, then, truthfully, said, “ Thank you, Dedue.”

He nodded and left.

Byleth stood over her mother's grave, and wished she felt something other than this horrible pain in her guts.

-

One day later that week, Dorothea approached Edelgard while she was busy reading outside her room, Hubert next to her eating a light late supper.

“ Edie!” Dorothea chirped brightly. “ How are you?”

“ I'm doing good,” Edelgard replied, putting her book down for the moment. “ Just reading. What's up?”

“ I've a question for you!” Dorothea said, but it was Edelgard, taking in her solo approach, who asked a question first.

“ Where's Petra?” Edelgard said, and hoped she kept the... _anger_... out of her voice. It wasn't... it wasn't helpful. That was the way to put it. It wasn't _helpful_ to be mad at Petra, who had only been trying to help, and that was the truth.

( Her rage stalked the corridors of her mind, and dreamed of axes driven into dark flesh. Truth had not been able to stop anger yet.)

No, it wasn't helpful to be angry at her, and with effort, Edelgard added the weight of her conscious choice to her truth, and shut that away inside, locked the door. No. Not yet.

“ Bernie wanted Petra to teach her how to hunt,” Dorothea said, ignorant of the battle going on in Edelgard's skin- or maybe not. She _was_ observant. “ She said it'd help her practice being sneaky and using her bow quietly, and if you guys were ever lost in the woods, she could provide food! She's also hoping to take up leatherworking, though Petra doesn't really know much about that beyond how to get the skins ready. Apparently Bernie's a pretty accomplished seamstress, so she wants to work with armor for you.”

“ That's... impressive,” Edelgard said. “ I wasn't aware Bernie had such diverse interests.”

“ She said it was important to be prepared, and Petra liked that well enough that she clapped her on the back and invited her on the trip. Of course, poor Bernie about leapt out of her skin when she did that, but she eventually came around. She had good timing, too- Petra had already planned a hunt, she's been dying for some properly made Brigid rabbit stew, and intends to get some by tomorrow night- you're all invited, by the way, she wanted me to extend the invitation.”

“ Thank you,” Edelgard said- not entirely sure she would go. She... she couldn't trust herself near Petra, not just yet. “ Some rabbit sounds lovely, but I'll have to make sure my schedule's clear.”

Then, begrudgingly, and because she didn't like being so angry she could not control it, Edelgard said, “ That's quite kind of Petra. Tell her... that I thank her.”

“ I will,” Dorothea said, flashing a bright smile. “ Me, I'm excited to hear how Bernie did! She's full of surprises.”

( At that very moment, Petra watched, dumbfounded, as Bernadetta got her ass kicked by a rabbit. For all her newfound courage, Bernadetta was still awkward and shy, and she had not expected such unbridled aggression from a cute little bunny; it had taken off after her, and she had already suffered multiple scratches, a bite wound, and a bruise from slamming into a low tree branch skull-first. It would take Petra a full two minutes to realize that she should save Bernadetta, the wise and cultured princess so stunned at the sight of a teenage girl fleeing a rabbit that she simply sat there as Bernie ran, the rabbit chasing after her, determined to extract its pound of flesh.)

Hubert nodded, joining the conversation as he finished his meal. “ She is indeed,” he said. “ And mostly the good kind.”

“ Aww, Hubie! Is that... _approval_ in your voice I hear?” Dorothea sing-songed, and Hubert harrumphed.

“ Of course. Bernie is most talented, and does her best for Lady Edelgard,” he said... but Dorothea heard the warmth underlying his cold words, like a midwinter fire inside a log cabin, and her teasing smile grew.

“ First crush?” she said. “ That's adorable! I always assumed you were in love with Edie.”

“ Everyone does,” Hubert said, rolling his eyes- and sensing the truth of it, Dorothea frowned.

“ Well, then- I apologize,” she said, favoring the dark noble with a slight bow. “ I know what it's like to have certain assumptions made about oneself, particularly romantically.”

Hubert was a bit surprised by that- he'd expected more teasing- and in his surprise, simply responded with a nod of his own, acknowledging the apology and offering his forgiveness as elegantly as you could like.

“ It is of no matter.”

“ Still,” Dorothea said, “ be good to her, you hear? She's so strong, but so... fragile.”

“ I do not intend Bernie any harm,” Hubert said, and Dorothea accepted that as the best the man could give her.

“ At any rate, apologies for dragging us down a tangent, I actually _did_ have a reason to come over here other than to interrupt your reading and eating. I was going to ask about something I overheard earlier today- are Caspar and Linhardt leaving us?”

“ Yes,” Edelgard said. “ Caspar asked this afternoon, and I granted it. He wanted Linhardt to come along- the Lions have no healer, with Mercedes having left.”

“ That is actually the crux of my query!” Dorothea said, then chuckled. “ Heh, that's a line from a play I was in once. Always wanted a chance to say it in real life!”

“ Glad to help,” Edelgard said, smiling at the songstress before memory perked up. “ Is that from... _Buccaneers of Boramus?_ ”

“ Yes!” Dorothea said, chuckling. “ We only did that one a few times- we wanted to save it, since it was such a highly requested play- but I loved it! The first time we did it while I was there, I played the eldest daughter, and Manuela played the Adrestian general- which she _hated_ , Manuela was good at patter songs but she was always afraid she'd stumble.”

Dorothea giggled. “ But then I convinced the theater to let us switch roles, and _that_ was the most popular version we ever did. The whole joke was that I was _clearly_ not supposed to be in that role, nor was Manuela- we rewrote it a bit to accommodate that. We had someone ask why she seemed so old, and Manuela _forgot her line_ , so she ad-libbed ' I've lived a hard life' and stared out into the audience, deadpan. She got a standing ovation for that, the audience was laughing so hard. We used that line ever since.”

“ I wasn't there for that performance,” Hubert said, “ But I _did_ catch a later one; I remember your version of the Modern Adrestian General song. Your voice is quite lovely, Dorothea, but hearing it turned towards patter was an amusing subversion of expected roles.”

“ I never took you for an opera fan,” Dorothea said. “ You'd have to be, to know of the expected roles for sopranos- and no, we're not _usually_ supposed to be blasting away at the patter songs, though I'm glad you liked my performance!”

“ I'm not an expert,” Hubert admitted. “ But your talents made it enjoyable, and I've been to enough opera to be aware of the usual run of things.”

( He was actually at the opera fairly often, meeting with the Agarthans; Thales loved theater, he viewed it as the one time the bestials managed to approach true humanity, and was fond of using the opera as a meeting place. Dorothea had been one of his favorites, as had Manuela, and he'd planned to spare both when Agartha conquered Adrestia after the war; the odd ways in which people could be connected to one another.)

“ I will take that as a compliment,” Dorothea said, and Hubert nodded, which might have been his attempt at saying it was.

( Hubert was so used to roughness that he plainly did not know what to do in most friendlier contexts; with Edelgard and Bernadetta, it was easy, somehow, but outside those two, he felt awkward, too sharp-edged. In the face of wise Dorothea or brilliant Petra, he had no idea what niceties to give.)

“ I visited the opera often,” Edelgard said. “ I'm not an expert either, but I do love a good stage show.... though I rarely had time to go. I saw a production of _Buccaneers_ , but it was at a different company.”

“ You went somewhere other than Mittelfrank? Oh, Edie, I don't know if my heart can survive this betrayal,” Dorothea said, clutching her chest and dramatically leaning back, the back of one hand thrown across her eyes. “ 'Tis a wound that will never heal!”

Edelgard snorted. “ There _are_ other opera companies, Dorothea, you can hardly blame a girl for playing the field before finding one to settle down with.”

Dorothea laughed, popping out of her false faint as quickly as she'd fallen into it. “ I like that! I'll have to tell Manuela you said that- it's a good line.”

Thinking of Manuela made Edelgard's hands itch to punch the drunkard, so Edelgard acted to move the conversation along. “ But you said you had a query, and I doubt it was about our tastes in opera.”

“ Precisely,” Dorothea said- and briefly waited for Edelgard to take a drink. Right as her fearless leader was taking a sip, she continued, “ We need a healer. Linhardt leaving has made us bereft of someone who can keep our heads and our assholes attached in the usual manner.”

Edie choked on her tea; Dorothea grinned mischievously, as Hubert gave her a sour look and handed his lady a handkerchief.

“ Did you- _time_ that for when I was taking a drink?” Edelgard accused, and Dorothea giggled, Edelgard quickly wiping herself dry.

“ Yep!”

Edelgard sighed... but fondly, as she handed the napkin back to Hubert, who promptly wrapped it in a dry one he produced from a side pocket.

( Him and Ferdinand were much more alike than either thought- one reason they almost always ended up in an Adrestian _understanding,_ if Ferdinand stayed with the Eagles.)

“ Continue, and _please_ , save surprises for when I do _not_ have a mouthful,” Edelgard ordered gently. “ Or I guarantee that the next time I spit my drink, I will aim for you.”

“ No promises,” Dorothea said, winking conspiratorially at her. “ Now, I'm sure you've already thought about this, but I was bringing it up to see if either of you had the talent for healing. Normally I'd approach Manuela about this, but you're a better judge of capability than she is.”

Code for _I'm not really talking about the school_. Hubert approved; they were mostly alone, but still Dorothea spoke in innocent-sounding euphemsims, coached her words in harmless terms.

“ Understood,” Edelgard said. “ But, unfortunately, I am entirely lacking in the talent, as is Hubert.”

He nodded. “ I have exactly the wrong personality for it,” he said. “ I would be better suited as... anything.”

“ Really? Because I'm trying to see you up on stage in my head, and the mental image doesn't jive well,” Dorothea said, trying to imagine Hubert trying to belt his way through a song.

Hubert gave a sardonic grin. “ You've hit upon my secret dream- opera star,” he said, laying the sarcasm on with a trowel. “ Do keep it quiet. We wouldn't want to ruin my reputation.”

“ Oh my, Hubie!” Dorothea said, chuckling. “ You have jokes inside you after all. The surprises just keep coming!”

He smirked at the woman's teasing. Hubert was an only child, but this felt rather... sisterly, to him, this friendly annoyance.

“ So, Hubie is right about his wrong personality, but I did a little digging- healing is faith-powered, but not necessarily faith in the Goddess. Just... faith.”

She turned warm eyes and a warmer smile on Edelgard, like stars twinkling in the night.

( _Goddess,_ Dorothea was pretty. _You are a lucky woman, Petra_ , Edelgard thought- and then, thinking of Petra's eyes when she looked at her Dorothea, realized that Petra was well aware of it. Some people had wisdom enough to recognize the treasures they were privileged to be given.)

“ Considering how dedicated you are, Edelgard, I thought you'd be a natural at healing!”

“ Me too,” Edelgard said, “ but alas, I cannot.”

Something the Agarthans had done, she suspected; her dedication and drive should have been more than enough to generate light in her hands, no matter her feelings towards the Goddess... but there was only slick black oil in her veins, when she called out to the sun, she felt only the dark answering back. No matter how much she craved the light, all her hands could summon was fire and darkness; and while fire was kin of light, was light's heart, the fire in her hand did not come at the call of faith but of fury.

She hated the night she summoned, for all the power black magic might grant her, for all Hubert's willingness to teach it to her; she would not sully her skin with shadow. She had lived in the dark long enough.

“ Well, that's... a bit of a pickle,” Dorothea admitted.

“ Never understood that phrase,” Edelgard admitted. “ I don't much like the taste of most pickled food myself- I favor sweet flavors- but pickling food is a solid way to preserve it, and I don't know how it came to be a term for a problem.”

Dorothea pondered that a moment- as did Hubert.

“ I have... no idea,” Dorothea said slowly, then laughed. “ And who just tosses that into a conversation? Edie, you are... so much more _normal_ than I'd have thought a princess to be.”

“ Me, _normal_?” Edelgard asked, quirking an eyebrow. Even Hubert leaned in on that one, raising his own eyebrow. Many words did she think of herself (both deluded and clear-sighted) but she'd never used the word _normal._ It was even weirder coming from Dorothea, who knew her great secret...

“ Yes,” Dorothea said. “ Despite everything, you are just... a person. Not the haughty and arrogant monster I expected to find. I think that's... that's what I like most about you. I think that's... what I trust, about you. That, and your kindness.”

Faced with this sudden and effusive praise from the cynical songstress, Edelgard blushed, and bowed her head. “ I have always been grateful for your loyalty,” she said, a little thickly.

It was truth. Edelgard remembered the night Dorothea had spoken her truth to Edelgard's power, and she still thought it was the bravest act she'd ever heard of. She had taken a leap of faith...

...That _couldn't_ be the answer... could it?

“ I think you could do it,” Edelgard said, and Dorothea looked at her like she'd turned into a dragon.

“ I- _what?_ ” Dorothea said. “ Edie, I'm trying to be serious!”

“ So am I,” Edelgard said, the idea solidifying in her mind. Devotion- dedication- Dorothea had those things. She was just so _cynical_... “ I think you could be our healer. I order you to study faith, Dorothea.”

“ I'll disappoint you,” the songstress said, shaking her head. “ I looked into it, early on- there's always a place for a healer, after all, and you know how... scared I was, of the future. Of having to go back to poverty. But I'm- I'm _clumsy_ with it, Edelgard, I have no faith in me. I'm just a really lucky street rat.”

“ You're more than that,” Edelgard said. “ I tire of hearing you mock yourself; you are Dorothea Arnault, who needed no nobility and no Crest to rise up. You are the _culmination_ of my values.”

She reached a hand out to Dorothea, who looked lost, like she didn't know what to say to that- like she wasn't sure it wasn't all a cruel _joke_.

So Edelgard, who liked Dorothea, no matter her feelings to her lover, gentled her command with a real, honest smile.

“ Trust me,” she said, and wonder of wonders, Dorothea _did_ ; her face grew soft, too, settled, and she took her hand gratefully, smiling back warm and soft and real. “ You are so much more than you think you are.”

“ I'll try,” her Eagle said with a sigh. “ I... I _hate_ disappointing people... I don't want to disappoint you, Edie. Do forgive me if I fail the task you've set.”

“ Ask Byleth to teach you,” Hubert said, and both turned to him. “ Byleth is powerful in faith... but I have heard that she also had trouble, at first. Perhaps she can help you.”

( He remembered that last spell as he fell, that voice like the trumpets of warring angels and the _pain_ \- powerful indeed.)

“ She's not our teacher though,” Dorothea pointed out, though Edelgard was already musing.

“ No, but Claude... Claude might be able to convince her to give you tutoring,” the princess said. “ I'll ask him at our next game. Maybe I'll make him bet it; I win every time, after all... well, he beat me once, but I don't think that'll happen again.”

“ Well, I'll do what I can,” Dorothea said, not sure _why_ Edelgard would put so much faith in her... but choosing to trust her.

( Another word for trust is faith; and in time, the faith Dorothea put in her friends would teach her hands the ways of healing, though that was yet to come.)

-

Thus does life pass for a week after the Deer's great meeting, after Byleth's tea with Rhea, after Edelgard and all her Eagles became one flock at last, saving the two who shed their feathers to put on fur coats. A week of peace and calm, before the letters arrive at their destinations, before things begin to change.

A week, in which Edelgard plays Claude again, and the laughing duke agrees to ask Byleth to tutor Dorothea, a request granted. A week in which Lysithea and Ferdinand maintain their midnight schedule, in which Ignatz begins working on the painting of Raphael he's got planned, in which Rhea and Byleth have tea one more time, and whatever is between them begins to grow.

A week, in which Byleth manages to wrestle down her guilt, and continues talking to Aelfric, who speaks to her of her mother. She hears of how she loved board games and books, animals and gardening; and in the memory of a woman Byleth never knew, she goes to the greenhouse, she expiates the guilt that still slithers in the dark of her insides by taking care of flowers.

Dedue is there, always, for there are few places in Garreg Mach where the big man can be at peace; if he is not serving Dimitri, who needs his retainer less than the other two do (for Dimitri is bad at remembering his duties as a prince, forgets to plot and plan and prepare), then Dedue is in the kitchen or the greenhouse, the only two places he feels at ease.

In the kitchen, no one bothers him, for his culinary creations are a delight and hypocrisy is a powerful force; even his fiercest critics will leave him be while he works his magic, waiting to dab their lips clean before they continue to be cruel to him. It does not help that he feeds everyone when he works, no matter their attitude towards him; perhaps there is some vain hope in him that they will leave him be, or perhaps it is just that he is so used to it that it does not occur to him to get angry about it anymore.

But the greenhouse is safe for a different reason; he visits often, for reasons that have nothing to do with how much he likes plants. The gardener likes him, and of all the things in her greenhouse she is, herself, perhaps the rarest and most beautiful flower; she does not bear the racism of Fodlan in her veins, she is a better woman than that, and her greenhouse is a safe space for the Duscurian giant, a place in which he can have something like peace.

( She has debated speaking to him of Abyss, and giving him a place to go- but sees his loyalty to Dimitri, and holds her tongue.)

Byleth and Dedue talk, or something like it. Dedue is quiet, and nobody has ever been like Byleth- but they manage to have conversations, nonetheless. Dedue's replies are terse, Byleth's contributions either even shorter than his own or greatly verbose, depending on her mood; but despite themselves and everything else, they achieve something like an acquaintanceship with each other.

A week, in which Edelgard has a meeting with Thales, in which he asks for her greatest warrior's service for a time, to hunt dragon's blood, a request she grants.

( It is not really a request. Nothing that passes between them is. She must wait a while yet, to pay back her tormentors; for now, she bows her head.)

A week in which the Eagles eat Brigid rabbit stew, and Edelgard is able to hold herself back all evening, and is proud of herself when she goes home, that she was merely a little terse during dinner, and revealed not the wildfire in her heart.... though she had been curious as to why Bernie had so many bandages on.

And at week's end, fifteen minutes after midnight, Flayn is out walking by herself in Garreg Mach.

-

The night was not Flayn's favorite time by any measure. No, she wasn't much for it; her nature was of Light, she was a thing of mornings and noons.

But right now, her father was asleep, and she could have some peace. She had slipped out, and was now simply walking about, enjoying a fleeting sense of freedom.

It wasn't like she was in any danger at _Garreg Mach_. Sure, she'd heard the rumors of the reaper, but she did not put much stock in them. Some humans _had_ disappeared, but there were many reasons for that to be so, and most did not require murder by spectral horsemen.

Humans made up lots of things to scare themselves, but she was a dragon; she was built a little more practical.

( Even though she'd never transformed, and never would. Even if the skin of a human was the only one she'd ever wear. It was just one of the things she tried, desperately, not think about; inevitable extinction is a heavy burden for anyone, but for one so young, it was unbearable.)

She just wanted to go out and walk, and not have her father looming over; not so much to ask. A little thing, and it wasn't risking much. No thief or murderer would come this close for fear of the Knights; she was safe here.

So she went a'walking, and thought no more of her father, or of anything at all, just enjoying being outside and unwatched for once.

Her first warning was the sound of hooves on stone.

She turned, not afraid, but curious. A messenger, perhaps... but at this hour? She was standing where the hedge maze had once stood, next to the cafeteria tent that had replaced the cafeteria proper. Quite a disaster that blaze had been!

But from behind her, the sound of hooves on stone grew louder, ever louder... until the source emerged into the light.

The thing that emerged from the shadows was... almost a _parody_ of itself, the kind of thing a mock opera might draw up for its main villain. Its every part said _evil_ in such overarching tones it was simply silly, there was something... _whimsical_ in this beast's construction.

Flayn realized, with rising terror, that the person who made this armor was telling a _joke_ , he was making fun of the world around him with each flourish... he was mocking everyone who saw the armor.

It spoke of a kind of jovial, almost happy sadism she had only known in the eyes of one of the Elites, a man who had looked at her and wondered what weapon could be made from her bones... but he'd been so _friendly_ the entire time, the awfulness and the good cheer existed side by side.

( And thus was Flayn the first person to realize _why_ Jeritza's alter ego had asked for the armor to be made this way- his own private joke about his true nature, disguising what he was by wearing an over-the-top parody of it.)

The reaper stalked up to her. Flayn should have ran, should have fought, should have done anything but what she did- stared, frightened, stunned, caught. She.. the reaper wasn't _real_ , he couldn't be real...

He lifted a scythe off his back, let it rest on his shoulder. Flayn jerked to run but her feet were going in different directions, she stumbled, she fell. She started to sob, tears of pure fear running down her cheeks, as the reaper drew closer, ever closer, dragging it out, enjoying her pain too much to end this quickly.

Sickening blue lightning ran down the beast's sickle, a single lick of a storm's tongue, and when he finally reached her, he looked down on her. His horse snorted, as though it, too, found Flayn as contemptible as its rider did.

The reaper lifted his sickle, and put the blade beneath her chin, that trembling lightning inches from her skin, the cold metal pressed against her throat, very gently- so gently that all she could think of was what it would be like if he was _not_ so gentle, if he put the sharpness of his double-sided scythe to her skin and _pushed._

She sat there, legs tangled up in each other, with that razor-sharp edge inches from her trembling throat, underneath her face... and he did nothing.

He just waited, he did _nothing_ , she sat there and she cried and he just waited. She cried, ever harder, but there was no one around to see her, where were the Knights? They should be nearby, they should hear her, but no one was coming...

He just stood there, so long she thought maybe he was going to spare her... and then, he pressed the blade forward, just the tiniest bit.

She screamed, he was going to kill her, he was going to make weapons out of her bones and she was going to die like her mother, like all her people, she screamed and sobbed and wet herself like a child.

She sat there in the mess, embarrassed and ashamed and terrified all three... and he withdrew his scythe from her throat, which was unhurt.

He laughed at her, thick wet chuckles, he had done all he had done just to _hurt_ her, and slake desires unspeakable by most tongues. This had all been just... _fun_ , for him.

Eventually his laughter ended, and he put his scythe back up to her chin.

“ **Hello, child,** ” the monstrous knight finally said to the innocent dragon. “ **I've been looking for you.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this is the Rumors of a Reaper chapter.
> 
> Some Shit is going DOWN.
> 
> Also one last note: I had a typo last chapter. There are not two people coming to the Deer; there are three. I made a mistake, and have fixed it- which is a shame, I'd call it a retcon but my dumb ass always intended it to say three. If it was a retcon it would at least be RESPECTABLE. Major companies do retcons all the time!
> 
> But alas, it is merely a mistake.


	8. Darkness Against Death, Gambit

**Darkness against Death, Gambit**

The reaper smiled under his mask.

“ **Do not resist. Or do- we only need you alive. A few limbs can be missing,** ” said the monster to his victim.

He laughed, and Flayn, terrified, did not have the strength even to crawl away, frozen prey before the predator.

“ **No resistance? Shame... I suppose I'll deliver you back in one piece. Though, I must forewarn you, you'll wish you'd submitted to my tender mercies; I, at least, always finish my meals. Where you are going, however, they will drink your blood again and again, forever... but I digress. Let us be off.** ”

He chuckled again, and clicked his horse forward, gently. He removed his scythe from her throat, and leaned down to grab her in one strong arm, to steal her away, the opening of every horror novel.

But the next second, someone changes it to a different type of tale; in the very moment before his hand would reach her, a javelin slammed into his helmet.

It skipped off of his armor without penetrating, but it still distracted him, caused him to withdraw his hand and turn his head. Flayn looked, too, and saw approaching at high speed a shield held aloft by a red-haired young man.

“ Unhand her, villain! I am Ferdinand von Aegir!”

And then he leapt in the air and _tackled_ the Death Knight, and Flayn stared in wonder as her world slowed down; some boy, with hair the orange-red of sunset, in casual clothes with a great steel shield in his hands, who had tackled the Reaper all Garreg Mach feared.

The Reaper and his horse both stumbled under the assault, and while the horse rider was able to throw him off a moment later with one strong arm, he landed heavy on his feet, shield still in hand.

The boy put it before Flayn, instead of before himself, even though he wore no armor.

“ Run!” he yelled to her. “ I've got this!”

And that, at last, woke her from her stupor; she stumbled up and ran, with her wet clothes, she fled as fast as she could while that brave boy stood behind her and the monster's voice echoed, moving faster than she could run.

“ **Ah, an appetizer,** ” the Death Knight said, though his stance was completely calm once he got his horse back under control. “ **And a brave one, too. Though you don't have a weapon. I almost feel as if I should lend you mine.** ”

“ I would appreciate it,” Ferdinand admitted, trying to buy time as he put his shield before himself again, now that the girl had fled. He had happened, by dumb luck, to find the two Knights of Seiros dead- both decapitated- and then he'd heard the Death Knight talking... tackling him had been reflex.

Only now was his brain catching up to what his feet had done, and he had _no idea_ what the hell he was going to do now.

( He couldn't fight this thing... even Lysithea's impossible might had only driven him off before in the Tomb, he'd been _laughing_ as he left last time...)

“ **Unfortunately, I have business tonight,** ” the Death Knight said, with the tone of one admitting to a terrible personal flaw. “ **I cannot attend to you in the manner you deserve, particularly after that magnificent show. Step out of the way, and I will not strike you down tonight- I'll reserve you for a later date, when you are properly armed.** ”

...He wanted to step aside. He really did. His survival instinct _really_ wanted him to take the Knight up on his offer; Ferdinand was not all honor and courage and nobility, he was also a person, and... and he knew he would lose this fight. He would _die_ , if he did not stand aside.

But he could still hear the girl running, hear her desperate footsteps, and if he stepped aside, the Death Knight would run her down, and she would die. There was no one else here, no one but Ferdinand... and if he moved, she would die.

...The decision was easier than he'd have expected, a moment ago. It was no decision at all, not really; he knew very well he would die, but he found that fear was a smaller part of him than it might have been, that his ideals mattered more to him than his own life. No flipping coin of choice for him; no, he had made his decision long before this second.

The only real surprise was that he truly _did_ believe in his ideals; like many good men, Ferdinand had feared he was secretly a hypocrite, that when push came to shove, he would bow or break... but here was the hardest push, the strongest shove, and still he found the choice...

Easy.

Ferdinand looked his death in the eyes, shook his head, and stood his ground.

( _Huh_. He thought. _I really am the man I pretend to be._ That wasn't such a bad thing to know, before the darkness took you, that was something death could not take from you, at the last.)

“ Goddess, welcome me in your arms tonight,” he prayed aloud, very quietly, and with his whole heart. “ But I will not abandon another to you.”

( And in her room, asleep, Byleth had the sense that a Deer was in danger... and awoke, throwing herself out of bed, stumbling out her door, and surprising Lysithea.)

“ **Brave... and fatal,** ” the Death Knight remarked casually, and raised his scythe up to kill the Adrestian, lightning flickering along the edge.

Ferdinand ran through his options, as the Death Knight prepared to strike him down- and time he had, the Knight had already dismissed him as a threat and was moving almost sluggishly, while Ferdinand's spiking adrenaline slowed time for him. What could he do? Weaponless, just with this big shield that would prove no guard against the monster's terrible thunders, he couldn't fight the Death Knight, he'd just kill Ferdinand then charge after the girl on his...

Horse.

Ferdinand had an idea.

He dashed forward and rammed his shield into the horse's face, and nobody was more surprised than the Death Knight. Even through the helmet, the impact _hurt_ the beast, and the horse whinnied and stumbled backwards. The Death Knight's aim was off, and a thunderbolt shot off into the sky, lashing against nothing.

( _There, there!_ Sothis screamed, Byleth running, carrying Lysithea in her arms so that her weak knees would not slow them down, despite the short girl's shouted protests- which themselves woke up half the dormitory.)

Ferdinand laughed from sheer exhilaration as he smashed his shield into its face again, the horse bucking and rearing as it tried to get away from him. The Knight could run the girl down easily with his horse- but if he didn't have a horse?

Well, Ferdinand had given the girl a hell of a headstart; it gave her a chance she didn't have before, and _that_ was worth dying for.

He wasn't just going to die here- he was going to die saving someone else. That wasn't so bad, either, that was yet another thing he could take into the dark with him.

The Knight roared something wordless and angry. Ferdinand would be killed or hit by lightning if he dodged left or right, so he didn't; he dodged under, he tackled the horse's front legs with his shield first. There was a terrible, wet _crack_ as something in one leg snapped as Ferdinand's weight and his shield both fell on top of it; the horse _screamed_ in Ferdinand's ear as lightning blasted the ground where he'd been standing, going right over his head, the horse collapsing as well. Somehow Ferdinand got away with only a few bruises from the horse's hooves kicking, rolling away, the Death Knight roaring as he fell off of his horse and onto the arm that held his scythe.

Ferdinand leapt up, and with the Knight, for the moment, rendered harmless, went to the horse again. A broken leg meant it wouldn't be running anyone down anytime soon- but a simple elixir would fix a broken leg. To stop the Rider, Ferdinand had to kill the horse, not incapacitate it.

( _Sorry, Marianne_ , he had time to think. At least he'd be too dead tomorrow for the gentle healer to look at him with those sad, disappointed eyes, the way she always reacted when someone had to kill an animal.)

He jumped atop the fallen animal, and he brought the bottom edge of his shield down on its skull once- twice- three times.

The first blow stunned it; the second began to crack its helmet, and the third- driven by Ferdinand's sheer adrenaline and the shield's own heavy weight- finally punched through the helmet and bones both, driving chunks of skull deep into the meat of its brain and killing it almost instantly. Blood poured from its nose, and that was it- the beast was still.

Ferdinand had one moment to feel triumph- one moment- before lightning ran through his veins as the Death Knight, scrambling to his feet, lashed out at him.

“ **You killed the horse!** ” the Death Knight laughed. “ **I'm impressed! I didn't see that coming. Nobody ever attacks the horse. Now, how to kill you...** ”

The lightning spewing from the sickle made every muscle in Ferdinand scream and tug in every direction, all at once; it was like having muscle cramps, but all over his body, over _all_ of his body. It burned him even as it made him dance a fool's jig, it _burned_ , he could smell himself beginning to _cook_ as the lightning rolled over him.

“ **I can take my time, now,** ” the Death Knight said. “ **I can't catch her tonight... maybe they'll even increase security around her. It'll make it more of a challenge. Admittedly, I did not expect one with such a brave heart to attack... Ah. That gives me an idea**.”

The Death Knight reached out with his scythe, and with the blazing tip, traced a circle around where Ferdinand's heart would be, lightning flickering out... and shutting down all the nerves that told his heart to beat.

“ **Let us see how long you live without that brave heart, shall we? I've never killed anyone like this before- it should be amusing.** ”

Oh, Goddess. He stumbled, his heart was stopped, there was no heartbeat- what was this? Byleth had told them her heart did not beat, but he had not _understood_ what it was, to not hear blood in your veins, somehow he still had thought but his body- everything was _wrong_ , he fell over, he heard himself collapse without the rush of his own blood in his ears to distract him from the soft thud.

_Oh Goddess, please_ , he begged, in the wordless tones of the damned. The Death Knight looked at him, head cocked to the side as though his death was a mere curiosity.

Then there was light and darkness.

-

Byleth put Lysithea down as they reached the field, as they saw what was there- the Death Knight, and Ferdinand, drowning in lightnings. The thing was tracing a smoldering circle on Ferdinand's chest...

“ I'll heal Ferdinand, you hold him off until I can join you,” Byleth said, and Lysithea growled.

“ I'll do more than that,” she promised, and then she raised her voice.

“ Hey, you!” she screamed in her thin soprano voice. “ We've got unfinished business, corpsefucker!”

That same high pitched tongue then spoke something _else_ , tone dropping abyss-deep the way Lysithea's always did when she spoke the words of darkness, thick and oily; a wave of beautiful night washed the Death Knight away from Ferdinand, who had collapsed. Byleth ran to him, light already growing in her hands- Ferdinand, he had to live. Byleth had not reset today, so if all else failed she'd tug them back but... but maybe she didn't have to.

She slid to her knees before him. Behind her, the Death Knight chuckled.

“ **Darkling? I doubt I have time to play tonight- but... I** _ **am**_ **feeling pretty good. Your companion killed my horse, I was most delightfully surprised, and his death was amusing. Perhaps I'll** _ **indulge**_ **, just this once, have myself a light dessert...** ”

“ Bring your fucking best!” Lysithea screamed at him, and then there were no more words between them, as lightning and shadows warred. Byleth caught glimpses of it in the flashes thrown on the wall before her, as she looked Ferdinand over, trying to figure out what to heal first- black and white flashes, chiaroscuro paintings of a long-haired, floating heroine of darkness against the horseman of death.

But Byleth paid no attention to those, oh, _Ferdinand_ , her brave, stupid boy, he was muttering something about a girl and how glad he was he hadn't run away and something about telling Hubert he forgave him. How in the world could he _talk_ he was so _burned_ , his eyes had baked in their sockets...

_Focus!_ Sothis snapped at her. _His heart, look at his heart!_

His heart- it wasn't beating. That was familiar to Byleth, but unlike her, in Ferdinand it would prove fatal- she needed to reconnect it...

She set to work, all her light heavy as a mountain, grabbing onto nerves and muscles and tissues, trying to keep him alive as, behind her, Darkness warred on Death to save them all.

-

It looked like heaven and hell had decided to go to war at Garreg Mach, and that they'd stolen each other's uniforms first.

Light dripped from the Death Knight despite his deathly visage, brilliant thunderbolts that made a mockery of divine judgment with each strike. The sheer power he was drawing in made storm clouds form with each swing, moisture gathering in the air as the Storm inside him lashed out; and in horrific parody of holiness, the glare from his thunder shone through the droplets, creating sparkling halo effects and trails of twinkling glimmers, cast in the patterns of the chromatic rainbow. The darkness was alight on his end, he made a great white display of his portion of the battlefield, all from the trailing lightnings he threw.

He laughed as they fought, enjoying the show, putting on this grand display half for the sheer fun of it.

Opposite him, a furious snarl on her face, was Lysithea, who was floating a little off the ground from the sheer force of her magic, all the strength of shadow roaring about her, clenched fists flickering with midnight's might. Her sword bounced in its scabbard, flapping from the power coming off the small girl. Her shadow stretched to fill the space behind her, the darkness shielding her teacher and fellow classmate from the monster, and it looked something like great dark wings, though Lysithea would have been mad as hell at that; she had never cared much for symbolism. Darkness coated her half of the place that had, once upon a time, been a hedge maze, she made a great black shield out of her portion of the battlefield with her spread wings.

She cursed in between swiftly-drawn breaths, spitting her spells, wanting only to take the Death Knight's head from his spike-bedecked shoulders.

Thunderbolts, blinding, blue and sick and artificial, lashing out with but a dismissive wave of a gauntleted hand. Darkness ate them, the shadow a shield, Lysithea not so much casting her spells as cursing them into existence, haranguing all the universe until it gave her what she wanted. Teeth of night that roared out and were consumed in a swing of a deadly scythe, the Death Knight chuckling as he wove and cast. Black holes of infinite weight dismissed by Agarthan steel, horrific electricity banished by cold void, over and over again, the two slugging it out in a mage's duel that was less some clever game of chess and more a slugging match between two giants.

The sound of it was everywhere, the whispering sussuration of slick shadow and the boisterous boom of crackling thunder, the terrible roar of implosions as spells fizzled and died, each speaking in tongues that rode the air strangely. From Lysithea came the words black holes whispered to the things they ate, the language humanity sometimes dreamed they could hear on moonless nights, a quiet and infinite language; from the Death Knight resounded the sizzling speech of the deadliest storms, of winds that tore down mountains and forests and lives at a single go and high waters so strong they could drown hell.

People started to arrive, this battle was too loud to ignore and no one had ever heard anything like this before; even the Deer, who had seen this fight's preview, were caught by surprise. Lysithea had grown in the meantime, and the Death Knight was enjoying the fight too much to hold back; this was the two of them as they truly were, and their battle was shaking the school.

( Even underground, the Abyss felt it- the roof over their head quaking, as the two titans above duked it out. Balthus, in the middle of strangling a mercenary who'd come close to their home tunnels, only hoped the damn Abyss wouldn't cave in on him, too- he was having a bad night as it was.)

Byleth ignored all of it, as she tried to save Ferdinand, her power sustaining him but her unable to piece his literally broken heart back together; ignored them until Marianne and Mercedes slid up to her.

“ What can we do to help?” the holy woman asked, and Marianne nodded to show she was ready and able, too.

“ I... keep him stable,” Byleth said. Her light was the biggest light of the Deer's- the biggest anyone had ever seen, if Marianne had a candle and Mercedes held a torch, then Byleth had a bonfire in her soul- but they could still help, they could stabilize him while Byleth... did what she could.

“ What's happening?” Claude said as he arrived, seeing the great battle raging. Others were here, but no one had tried to interfere yet- save Ignatz, who upon seeing Lysithea involved, had thrown a rock at the Death Knight, and eaten a stray lightning bolt for it.

He was recovering nearby, thanks to Dedue, who had given him some elixir; Dedue apparently carried a few bottles out of habit, in case Dimitri got hurt. That same prince had arrived, alongside his new Lions, and the trio were just staring at the battle before them.

“ Ferdinand hurt,” Byleth grunted, working quickly. “ Lysithea fighting Death Knight. Got to save him.”

( Some distance away, near the pond, Flayn finally found some Knights of Seiros, and her babbling resolved into words that set the alarms all over the monastery.)

“ Shit- Lorenz!” Claude ordered. “ You and me and Hilda, we'll grab weapons from the classroom!”

“ It's locked at this hour!” Lorenz protested.

Claude produced a copy of the key from his pocket, and Lorenz's face was torn between being aghast and impressed.

“ I've got a weapon,” Hilda said, hefting the axe that she carried at all times.

“ Yeah, I've got a dagger, but you think either me or you can get close enough to hit him in the middle of that?!?” Claude replied, pointing at the great circling sea of magic between the two duelists, which looked ready to drown anyone who tried to get closer. “ We need ranged weapons and we need pure water, let's go!”

The three ran off, after something they could use to help Lysithea.

Byleth merely focused on Ferdinand. She'd healed most of the other injuries, but the second they let the light drop, he'd die; he was on the edge as it was, light substituting for blood flow, but until his heart would pump again, they were just delaying the inevitable...

_His heart, his heart is unattached inside him,_ she said inside her skull to Sothis, looking down, sensing what was wrong with him with her healer's sense. Shame it could tell her only what was wrong, not how to fix it; all the king's horses and all the king's men might put Ferdinand back together again but she was just a possessed mercenary with two students.

_I... I don't know how to fix that... but I feel like I've seen someone do it before,_ Sothis said, as something not quite a memory flickered in her mind.

_Show me_ , Byleth said, and the images flowed.

(corpses, corpses, a lab somewhere full of corpses. Splitting them open, replacing dead hearts with a cold... something. Darkness and lightning. Something Sothis had not so much seen as _undergone_ , something crawling over... a stone? An image, hallucinogenic, a great dragon performing surgery, an image so strange that Byleth _knew_ it couldn't be right, thin scalpels in scaled hands...)

...It was the thinnest hope in the world, but what choice did she have?

Byleth committed herself to the path. She'd need to see inside him to do this, and she was no doctor- but she was a _very_ powerful healer, maybe she could substitute sheer brute force for medical expertise, heal him just a little faster than she was killing him.

“ Knife, need a knife,” she said. “ I need a knife and... Leonie, Raphael! Help me, I have to get his chest open!”

The big man and the strong woman came running over, and Leonie- bless her- had the knife she'd grabbed on waking up, and Byleth put it to Ferdinand's chest.

_Please, let this work,_ Byleth prayed, to any gods that were listening, and stabbed downwards into his chest, to the sound of her Deer gasping in shock.

-

As Byleth attempted amateur surgery, the entire school turned out to see what was going on.

They were mostly safe, staying back; only the Deer dared ventured closer, and that was to surround Byleth, taking shelter behind their youngest and mightiest. Dedue was the lone Lion to approach as close, and that was simply because he'd seen Ignatz get hurt; he'd come forward, grabbed him, and given him the Elixir, and now he could not retreat, for upon seeing that he had an audience, the Reaper had stepped up his game, and to step out from behind Lysithea was death, now.

( Edelgard, in the crowd, feeling like she was falling as she watched him fight the girl she yearned to know better, she didn't know who she wanted to win this fight and it _horrified_ her, to be so caught, Jeritza was hers but Lysithea was _like_ her and... and how had this come to happen? Had Thales _meant_ for this..? She wavered where she stood and Hubert held her up, and the other Eagles formed a circle around her, Bernie in front, Dorothea and Petra behind, protecting her from prying eyes, though they did not know why she was so weak in the knees at the sight of this terrible battle.)

No one did anything, newcomers warned of Ignatz's fate, and the duel at such a fierce tempo few could have entered that dance and lived through the steps. That wasn't even counting those who were so stunned they just stared, and few could blame them; no greater show of spellcraft had Garreg Mach seen in all the years since Seiros waged her war. These ancient stones, which had seen so much, had not seen _this_ before; upon this burned and blackened patch of rectangular earth did a storm giant and a shadow giant try to break each other with fists of gigantic magic, and most who looked upon it forgot duties and discipline both in the face of such raw power.

Spells dripped from the Death Knight's scythe like bloody water, his voice a low and ugly crackle of sadistic glee that accompanied the sizzle of his lightning. Lysithea's sword sang in response, the girl drawing it to use like a conductor's baton, orchestrating the symphony of her sorcery, sharp slashes and stabs commanding entire legions of night to her aid- legions of shadows that took the forms of her fellow Deer, her friends, a shadow army that died in droves and was replaced just as fast. The area between them was lit up like a chessboard in patterns, the bright white of flickering thunderbolts and the black of midnight's hammer, back and forth like waves as they cast and counter-cast, moved and struck.

They fought like that for what felt like hours, as Byleth worked in desperation with Mercedes and Marianne as nurses and Raphael and Leonie as orderlies, Byleth cutting Ferdinand open and ordering Raphael and Leonie to pull his ribcage apart. The blonde was disgusted beyond belief, and the orange-haired wannabe mercenary only dodged such a feeling due to her general ferociousness; but they did it, they obeyed and trusted their Teach. Marianne wavered, wanted to puke but held firm; Mercedes, older and tougher, was merely curious as she poured sustaining light into the boy, wondering what Teach was doing.

Teach wondered that, too, but Sothis guided her hands, as she knit the nerves back together, as she tied veins and arteries together with her power as scalpel and suture and medicine all three. Goddess bless Byleth's light; she was the stupidest person who'd ever attempted open-heart surgery but the sun in her veins meant she might be able to do it, she might yet brute force her way through it.

Other things happened, too many at once. The Lions, staring, Dimitri finally turning to Caspar who shouted they should get weapons and help. Ignatz returning to his feet, Dedue unable to move while Dimitri took off, the prince yelling for his retainer to stay put until he came back. Claude, Hilda and Lorenz, raiding Leonie's preparations for tools, running back with hands full of weapons and the three draughts of pure water Leonie had convinced them to pitch in for.

The first Knights on the scene, Flayn being hurried back to Seteth by others, Catherine, Shamir and all the others coming awake as the alarms were raised and the sound of the clanging bells joined in with the noise of this great war between two people in a general clamor.

And amidst all of it, the two kept fighting. Lysithea throwing spells at the top of her lungs even as her throat grew raw and sore, the twisted blue-white thunder coiling all around her, hunting for any flaw in her defenses, the Death Knight's own stormclouds circling him so that the encroaching black could not strike him.

Byleth prayed only that Lysithea could hold out.

-

Lysithea knew this one fact: she could not hold out.

Lysithea's throat burned, hoarse from her spellcraft; her tongue _hurt_ , the icy words of infinite space leaving the pink tip frostbitten. Her muscles hurt... she'd clung on, drive and determination supplementing weak sinew and muscle... but she was fading. The sword in her hands weighed as much as a mountain.

She had never called forth so much power before, she was herself amazed at what she was doing- but there was a cost, the human body could not channel so much might without harm. Her entire body ached, and it was not the Crests this time; the force she was drawing on was crippling her, hurting her, she prayed that when Byleth was done saving Ferdinand she had light enough left over to save her, too. This was killing her, the human body was not meant to throw the weight of all midnight around like this, and especially not _her_ body, half-broken from the experiments as it was.

Hell, Lysithea had not even known she _could_ do this. She'd read of mages doing things like this before, truly merging with their element, but no one knew how they'd done it... and now that she was doing it, neither did Lysithea. This was something so far beyond her normal limits that she wasn't sure _how_ she was pulling it off, except that maybe it was some interaction between her Crests and her skill and her willpower, combined with... something else, with that thing she could not name, that had been growing in her chest.

Her Deer were behind her, after all. They needed a shield; so Lysithea... did what she had to do. That was all it was. Her Crests and her magical talent and sheer bloody-minded determination... and the fact that the Deer needed her to be this strong, so she found the power to do it. That was all it was.

Still, even with all this power, and with all the cost she was paying for it, her hands trembled. She could not keep this up for long, even knowing the Deer needed her to do it. Her spirit was willing, but oh, Goddess, her flesh was so weak.

( The body recoils from the attack on death. The soul damns it for a coward, and presses on.)

The Death Knight, still laughing, must have sensed weakness; he was increasing his pace beyond what she could keep up with, he pressed harder, more water, more thunder, more Storm against the fading Night.

...No. She wouldn't _allow_ this to happen. She... there had to be _something_...

Leonie's words echoed to her. _You're smart!_

Damn fucking right she was smart; if spellcraft failed her, she still had her mind, she was the _smartest_ goddamn person in Garreg Mach and she was not going to die here!

Lysithea grit her teeth, and _focused._ So spellcraft couldn't overcome him... but she wasn't just a wizard. Just look at the sword in her hands, she was more than just a mage...

Wait.

The sword in her hands... and the work she'd done, sharpening the edge with spellcraft, a hex that made a blade mightier... her little tribute to the bigger woman she was supposed to be, to the deadly swordswoman that, in another life, she might have been.

Leonie's teachings- counters. She'd taught her to counter scythes first, her own little joke about the Death Knight; but it was not a joke now, no, now it was _wisdom_ , she had a talent the Death Knight could know nothing of.

Lysithea had an idea.

It burst full-formed into her mind, and it was so _stupid_ that she immediately knew it was the right one. If even _she_ couldn't believe it, what was _he_ going to think? If it surprised him... if he didn't expect it... then maybe she'd get him with it, maybe he would be so surprised that she'd get her blow in before he could react.

She'd only get one chance.

( _I'll only need one_ , she promised herself, anger and truth all in one go.)

She lowered herself to the ground, concentrating her darkness, tightening up the devouring shield around her, making her spread wings just big enough to shield the Deer behind her. She had to get closer, and the concentrated power would let her do it, let her punch through his stormwinds and close into melee.

Then she began to do the hardest part- she began to walk.

-

Claude, Hilda and Lorenz returned, arms full of the tools of death, just in time to see Lysithea march forward, her power so narrowed down you couldn't even see her, just a black marble moving slowly across the battlefield, just the faintest hint of spread black wings behind her, shielding the Deer even as her power withdrew from the rest of the field.

The Death Knight concentrated his own power in response, realizing that his widespread winds weren't enough to stop this boulder of obsidian; he tightened up his power until the barrage of thunderbolts was so constant and continuous that you couldn't look at the battlefield, the thunder so constant it was overlapping itself into a roar so loud the clanging bells of alarm were completely drowned out. Claude, standing not three dozen feet away, could barely hear himself _think_ over all the noise.

( Noise that Claude felt had been going on forever, but this had all taken... what, a few minutes? Maybe two dozen, total? It felt like hours had passed since he was woken by bright thunders and dark whispers, so much had happened, so fast)

Still Lysithea advanced, still she steadily rolled on, heavy as an avalanche, each blow shaking loose some of her shadow, that power trailing after her in a long black tail, like the negative image of a comet.

_How is she doing this?_ Claude thought as he ran up to the field. He'd known she was powerful... but this was something else, this was something you read about in books... and it was _dangerous_ , it was dangerous for a mage to so fully throw themselves into their power like this. Claude was no mage, but he kept up with everything out of his natural curiosity, and he had read of mages pulling stunts like this- mages who died, afterwards, it was too much, too much, for a minute they could be a God but afterwards they were corpses.

_We have to finish this fast_ , he thought, as he finally reached his fellow Deer, still behind Lysithea- and at least the battlefield had cleared up, thank God, the Death Knight concentrating his power meant Lysithea didn't have to shield the Deer anymore, just herself.

Now they had to save her, as she'd saved them; the only way to do that was to help her finish this, quickly. The faster it was done, the less time Lysithea spent leaking power like a faucet, and the better chance they had to save the littlest and mightiest Deer.

“ **Everyone!** ” he yelled, just barely loud enough that, standing next to them, they could hear him over the storm's endless chorus. “ **Grab a weapon!** ”

Ignatz was first, grabbed a bow and some arrows. Claude had a bow, too; Hilda a throwing axe, Lorenz a javelin, and that was it, everyone else was trying to save Ferdinand's life... and Almyr's teeth, had Byleth _cut him open_? Raphael and Leonie sat next to him, holding his chest wide open as Teach worked, the light in her hands forming strings as she did _something_ to his insides, Marianne and Mercedes pouring healing into him to keep him stable as Byleth did her thing, and Claude would swear that her eyes had turned from round pupils to slits...

But that didn't matter. One more person was here, looking a bit lost, and Claude called out to him.

“ **Dedue!** ” Claude yelled. “ **We need help, big guy!** ”

Dimitri wasn't present, had told him to stay; so in the absence of orders to the contrary, Dedue headed to him.

“ **How can I assist?** ” he said, the big man yelling to be heard.

“ **Take a hatchet and follow my orders!** ” Claude said, and despite everything, he found a laugh inside himself. “ **You're an honorary Deer today, Dedue!** ”

The Lion, now a temporary Deer, shook his head- but he picked up the hatchet and the antlers both, and obeyed.

“ **With me!** ” Claude shouted, motioning for the group to head forward and to the side- importantly, the Death Knight's _right_ side, Claude had paid attention to which hand the Death Knight held his sickle in. “ **Hold your weapons out- Hilda, pour the pure water on them. Then everybody, aim at the bastard and attack on three!** ”

The Deer's draughts of pure water, the most expensive thing the class as a whole owned, dumped by Hilda's quick hands on their weapons, hoping the purified, anti-magical extract would let them cut through the magic around the Knight and strike true. Most ran off, even as the spiritual defense took hold, water worth more than its weight in gold sloughing off their weapons to be absorbed into thirsty ground.

( Leonie, nearby, felt a terrible pang, seeing it wasted, before she turned back and watched Byleth give Ferdinand's heart new vessels.)

“ **Our weapons won't hurt him!** ” Lorenz yelled, even as he readied to throw.

“ **We're just trying to distract him!** ” Claude said, taking aim. “ **Head and arm, guys! Head and arm!** ”

Lysithea was close, and Claude didn't know _why_ she was getting so close... but she was, and he would trust her, and give her what aid he could.

He drew back on his bow, and took aim, Ignatz doing the same, Hilda readying a hatchet alongside Dedue and Lorenz with his javelin.

“ **One!** ”

-

Lysithea staggered forward.

Her calves wanted to break. Her legs _shook_ with the effort, her body so weak, she was glad Byleth had carried her over from the dorms, or she'd never manage this. All her spellcasting had taken such a toll on her, a toll she hadn't known until she began to move... and now, each step was agony. Her mouth never stopped, her hands still moving to cast even as she slowly, carefully stalked forward, her breath barely coming fast enough to spit out the terse spells she threw forward, keeping herself from gasping in pain with sheer effort.

But what an effort she had to make, she hurt so _much_. Each step was shoving broken glass between her toes, shooting pains that threatened to topple her; the sword in her hand weighed heavy as an iceberg, even as she channeled calm, cool night down her burning muscles and onto its edge.

Worse, as she got closer to him, the footing grew slippery. Water and moisture had been pouring off of him, and now the area was turned to mud, the rain that accompanied his fulgurous vulgarities had sluiced off of his armor to render this entire part of the hedge maze a mess. Each step was up and out of sucking mud, each step harder than the last.

But she had to keep going, so she did. She hurt every day, this girl of fifteen knew the aches and pains of the elderly, her blood rotting and rancid in her veins even in the days of her youth; pain is a familiar entity.

( Distantly, she heard Claude, she thought he said... two?)

She pressed forward, her determination a headwind as she pushed upriver against a current made of thunderbolts. The Death Knight's fulgurous laughter accompanied each strike; she set her jaw and kept going. Her voice stumbled, her shield wavered, but always she picked it back up in time for the next step in the dance, so much pain she endured, just to make a single step.

The force increased- how could he _do_ this, what _was_ he, that he had so much power inside him? He called himself the Death Knight, was he truly some kind of inhuman reaper, servant of Death itself? Some kind of... horrible ghost, and that was terrifying to Lysithea, she had always feared the world of the dead... had it come to her now?

Dimly, she heard Claude shout something... and then the pressure released, she nearly stumbled forward, as the Death Knight's casting stalled, just for a second.

A clatter as arrows and throwing axes and a single javelin slammed into him, their hafts catching fire as they crossed into the field of electricity protecting him- but the heads lasted, protected somehow, and they struck him. They did him no harm- his armor blocked the blows- but it _did_ make him stumble, he slipped up in his spellcasting, just for a second.

Lysithea spared a glance- the Deer, her fellow Deer, helping her.

( Of course.)

A burst of that emotion inside her, steadying her, strengthening her- she found it in her to run towards the Death Knight, who looked as if he might turn at any moment and attack her companions.

_No!_ Lysithea thought, her mind flashing through images of lightning coursing through Golden veins, of friendly flesh burned and twisted by storm's strength. _No!_

“ **HEY!** ” Lysithea screamed at him at the top of her lungs, startlingly clear, the battlefield had no more sounds save the clang of alarm bells and the distant footfall sounds of the Knights of Seiros, finally awake and armored and heading their way.

Lysithea cared for none of it, heard none of it, she just wanted the Death Knight to look at her, her entire spirit willed it as hard as it could, her aches and pains forgotten in her terror.

_Don't look at them, look at me, look at me,_ she begged him in her mind, _look at me!_ _I can take it, they can't, don't look at them!_

And wonder of wonders, he turned back to her. He seemed surprised as she rushed him, sword drawn, body language unsure for a second before he moved to sweep with his scythe, a great blow to take her head off.

_Scythe wielders expect people to try to block with a shield, or to at least jump back,_ Leonie had said to her once, and now that voice was a ghost in her head, the first ghost Lysithea had ever been glad to hear. _Don't. Scythe construction means they'll whip around a shield and get you anyway, and the reach is_ _always_ _longer than you think- you jump back, they'll still get you. Charge in. The scythe's no good up-close. Close with them and attack! And if he's going for your head, duck! You're small, and the scythe's a big weapon, it's hard to change course once you commit. Once they've attacked, get them!_

_One chance_ , Lysithea thought, and ran forward, not hesitating at all as he began his swing, praying Leonie was right... and diving at the last second, tucking into the roll Leonie had tried to teach her, mostly managing it as she skidded across the muddy field, sliding up close to the beast, ending up on her knees right before him.

The swing missed. It passed over her head, and while the Death Knight was reacting faster than most would or _could_ to her changed position, Leonie had the right of it- a scythe was a heavy weapon.

Swords were not.

Lysithea staggered upward, and cut as she rose, a great upwards swing with her blade shining with midnight magic, swearing at the top of her lungs to give herself encouragement as she did so.

“ **FUCK!** ”

He couldn't dodge in time, his swing had him off-balance, he was half-turned towards her and he couldn't recover in time... and wonder of wonders, her blade was, for all her stumbling and amateur swordsmanship, aimed perfect, she was going to hit exactly what she aimed for.

“ **YOU!** ”

The edge sang scarlet as it bit deep into his flesh, the Agarthan armor worth no more than paper, it sank into meat and blood and hit bone and _kept going_ , the sharpest edge in the world sliced through all resistance and came out the other side, and Lysithea nearly spun off balance as, before her, the Death Knight's right arm was sliced off at the shoulder, gore spilling like a broken fountain from him as the dismembered limb fell flopping and useless, the scythe slapping into the muddy ground out of its now-deadened fingers.

The Death Knight _screamed-_ but Lysithea wasn't done yet, even as the sudden changes in her balance threatened to make her black out, dizzy and stumbling, she still had sense enough to make one more attack, her right hand letting go of her blade so that she could grab her taller foe's mask as he screamed and his left hand clutched at where his arm once was.

She grabbed onto his skull mask, and whispered her last spell, channeling the most basic dark magic she knew straight down her hand and into his head.

The blast was like a bomb going off; the mask shattered, and his skull, pounded from close-range, cracked, the brain inside rendered unconscious from the force of such a point-blank shot. The mask had done its job, even as it broke- it saved his life, if Lysithea had been holding flesh she would have pulped him with that attack- but between the trauma of losing his arm and the sudden impact, the Death Knight could not stay conscious.

(His last thought was _Mercedes_ , and he wasn't sure which of his personas thought it- it might have been both.)

The Death Knight collapsed. Lysithea, sword in her left hand, staggered for a moment above him, exhausted in ways she had not known she could be.

“ Two zero,” she spat at her fallen foe. “ Two fucking zero, corpsefucker!”

( Some small part of Byleth- some part that wasn't healing Ferdinand- thought that she'd have to clean Lysithea's language up, or at least teach her some new swears.)

Then she fell, too- fell into Ignatz's arms, the archer had run forward the second the battle ended and he was there, he caught her frail, tiny form in his arms and kept the heroine of the hour from falling into the mud.

His arms were warm, and Lysithea was so cold... if she had the strength, she'd snuggle up to him.

As it was, she had strength only to smile at him, his image blurry in her eyesight... and then she blacked out.

“ I- oh Goddess, no,” Ignatz said, as her eyes shut. “ Help- **help**!”

“ I am here,” Dedue said, for he had more elixirs, and he opened one and poured it gently down her throat as she lay in Ignatz's arms, warmth slowly returning to her as the elixir worked its magic. “ I am no doctor, but this will help.”

Behind them, Byleth finally finished with Ferdinand, and wonder of wonders, it worked; she had done it, she had become the first person to practice surgery by sledgehammer and smash instead of scalpel and skill. His veins and arteries were where they were supposed to be, and the healing power of Byleth's light was so strong that it _forced_ the system to work again; his heart began to beat.

He'd need weeks of healing, and constant bed rest to avoid tearing those out again, but in time, with healer's help, he'd recover.

“ We require medical assistance,” came Dedue's voice from behind her, calm even in times of trouble, and Byleth staggered up.

“ Watch him,” she ordered Marianne, motioning for Mercedes to come with, wanting her more experienced medic on hand. She took off, traveling swiftly across the field, Leonie and Raphael following out of habit.

She looked over Lysithea with her healer's sense, looked into her guts... oh, her mighty Lysithea, so small now, so cold in Ignatz's arms... but... she would be okay. She was wounded, wounded badly, she had hairline fractures in every bone of her arms and legs and torn muscles all over her... Byleth could fix this by brute force now, and do it poorly and hurt her badly, or she could let bed rest heal her correctly, and chose the better option.

“ She'll be fine,” she said. “ Needs bed rest and constant treatment- but she'll be okay. Let's get her to the infirmary, along with Ferdinand.”

“ Thank the Goddess,” Mercedes said, her attention entirely on Lysithea.

“ Teach!” Claude said, his group coming over, the little distractions that had helped Lyisthea win her duel. “ Am I glad to see you! What in the world just happened here?”

“ Ferdinand,” Byleth answered. “ Me and Lysithea ran here next, and... well, you saw the rest. Where are the Knights?”

“ Right there,” Claude said, as a squad, led by Catherine, finally reached the former hedge maze.

“ What the hell is going on here?” Catherine yelled.... but Byleth didn't hear her, because she heard Mercedes take a sudden, in-drawn breath.

“ Oh, _Goddess_ ,” Mercedes said, and when Byleth looked over to see why she was talking like that, she saw Mercedes looking at their fallen foe and...

Oh.

“ Mercedes, I... don't know what to say,” Claude said, as he looked down too. “ I... shit. Is he alive, Teach?”

She checked, and while there was the faintest ember there, she doubted even she could keep him alive...

She shook her head at Mercedes, who began to weep, even as she tried to stop herself, Catherine still raging for answers and still summarily ignored by the Deer.

...Byleth wondered how much worse it would be, to lose a brother you had once known, compared to her losing a mother she had never known; thought of her guilt, and her hurt, and Mercedes' guilt and hurt, which would be worse... and Byleth's guilt and hurt had been so strong, she could not imagine something worse.

Not for gentle Mercedes, who had joined her Deer in hopes that Byleth would teach her enough of weapon skills that she could get her brother to talk to her. Mercedes, who had abandoned him, and hated herself for it, and wanted only a second chance... a second chance Byleth could give her.

The gleam of spinning gold in Byleth's head, and her hand catching it, making a decision.

... _Reset._

_Are you sure?_ Sothis asked. _He is the Death Knight- I doubt Rhea will spare him for longer than this... and he is a murderer, he has killed young girls, Byleth. He doesn't deserve to live._

_Probably not, but I have to try,_ Byleth told her. _I'm not saving him for his own sake- I'm saving him for Mercedes. Take me back to right after I fixed Ferdinand- if I run and hurry, maybe I can save him._

_...Alright_ , Sothis said, and the world swam in reverse, the sound of glass shattering as Byleth and Sothis punched a hole in time and stepped through it, back to Ferdinand taking his frist breath.

Byleth rose up wordlessly, marched past Lysithea, found Jertiza dying- and poured light into his veins, to keep his ember glowing.

“ Mercedes, come here,” the professor said. As they passed Ignatz and Dedue pouring elixir down Lysithea's throat, she said, “ Dedue, finish giving Lysithea the elixir, she'll be fine once you do. Needs bed rest, but she'll live.”

“ Jertiza?” Mercedes said as they reached him, laying there. Byleth nodded, and began pouring light into his veins, keeping the struggling ember alive.

“ If anyone has anything else, I'll need your supplies to keep Jeritza alive,” she said, as Claude arrived, and wonder of wonders, from Leonie's emergency pouches did they draw vulneraries and bandages. “ Put vulnerary on those, then put the bandages on his shoulder, stop the bleeding and start healing from that end. I'll work on the rest of him.”

Long strips of vulnerary-laced were applied, mostly by Mercedes' hands, which trembled but did not falter, trusting in her professor and her own professionalism to keep her steady as she watched her little brother breathe and Mercedes tried desperately not to lose it. Later, _later_ , she could panic later; right now she had to save Emile.

After a few moment's work, Byleth- knowing it could not be certain- thought maybe she'd saved his life. Sothis gave her a dubious look.

_Bad idea_ , she said.

( Of the timeline Byleth averted, and the one she had just made, this only can be said at this juncture: there would come a time when Jertiza's presence or absence would dictate the lives of many others, a time approaching soon- but let us say no more than that.)

About this point, Catherine arrived.

“ What the hell is going on here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the plot is not going to strongly resemble Three Houses except in broad strokes. Too much has changed... and wait until you see the weight of all these changes!
> 
> Next time: Thales calls for help, Ferdinand and Lysithea are in hospital beds, Jeritza needs a hand, Rhea has a debate with Byleth and Edelgard tries to figure out what the hell she's going to do now. Also Solon and Seteth show up and some people are headbutted!


	9. Clipped Wings, Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We back! The aftermath of the great battle... the day after disaster. And the Eagles, dealing with shit too!

**Clipped Wings, Bind**

Rhea sipped her fine, bitter, sun-brewed tea, and sighed happily.

What a _lovely_ day.

Garreg Mach was a buzz of activity, though none of it was in the classrooms. Class had been canceled for the week, given the exceptional circumstances.

Heh. Exceptional circumstances. Down the long centuries, Rhea had used that term many times, but she could not think of a prior incident that so deserved the title. A student witch of Leceister dueling- and beating!- a traitorous reaper of Agartha, in order to save one of the last of the Nabatea; indeed, no more exceptional circumstances could Rhea remember, and _that_ was a rare treat in a life so ancient.

Still, even with the students mostly in their rooms or gathered in the open areas, people were still running back and forth.

Healers were everywhere, on one errand or another in their task to heal the great heroes of the hour, the two Golden Deer who had saved little Cethleann from worse than death. Ferdinand and Lysithea yet slept, though the latter's condition was fine- she merely needed rest after her exertions. The former, though...

It was in the healer's hands, now, and Rhea prayed to her mother that he came out of it alive.

( Byleth, just now leaving her room to check on her Deer in the infirmary, felt a thin, icy thing- cool and sharp- slip inside her, to that place Sothis stayed, but thought no more of it. Such odd sensations were becoming almost normal for the empty-eyed mercenary.)

She truly hoped he lived. She was fond of Adrestians- still her favorite nation, after all this time, and despite the current estrangement- and... well. So few humans proved to be special, but this year's class of Golden Deer... well, there was something _more_ about them. Perhaps precious Byleth had sensed that, and that was why she'd chosen to teach them; a kind of greatness about them.

Rhea had missed that at first, attributed all their great deeds to Byleth alone... but Byleth had played no role last night save that of healer. Ferdinand had saved Flayn first, and then Lysithea had saved him in turn; and the other Deer had assisted, had not stared slack-jawed at the spectacle, like too many- including Holy Knights!- had done. Rhea was going to have _words_ with some people over that.

...But the only words she'd have for the Deer were of praise. Perhaps she should do something nice for them.

Much as she was going to do to Jeritza.

She took another sip, and let her lip curl into a sneer. _Jeritza_. Traitorous scum. As soon as Jeralt came back, his new task would be to hunt down those who had made up Jertiza's references- clearly at least some of it had to be falsified. It might provide a trail to his Agarthan masters...

Knights of Seiros- Shamir in particular- watched over the fallen reaper, though he had remained out cold since Lysithea had point-blanked him with dark magic. Rhea itched to question him, wanted to find the Agarthans _now_ , kill them, _kill them all!_

( the memories bubbling up inside her, filthy water, poison, she is drowning amongst the dead; her people slaughtered like beasts in Zanado, which she has never been able to think of again without seeing their blood on the walls, brains scattered to the ground, their bones taken pulled out _holes in backs arms split wide open chests pulled apart like wings of butchered meat_ )

...When Rhea came back to herself, some time had passed, though she knew not how much.

She took another, steadying sip, and went back to her train of thought. Jertiza... he'd live, to the surprise of most. According to Manuela, Lysithea's attack might accidentally save his life; his skull was so shattered that it was putting no pressure on his swelling brain. Instead of intercranial bleeding, Jertiza's head simply swelled- though it rendered him somewhat grotesque to look at, his head much like that of an swollen octopus at the moment.

Still, he was breathing, and all healing magic indicated it was not impossible he would survive. Tough for a human, Jertiza was, though Rhea admittedly had a bit of an unusual perception of toughness.

( Rhea had never had a chance to learn this, but she was the hardest to hurt of all Sothis' children; had her people not been slaughtered in Zanado, she would have gone down in history as one of their mightiest warriors, all predicated on her absurd endurance.)

What _was_ impossible was knowing what his condition would be once he was healed. His brain had suffered considerably, and the additional trauma of losing a major limb had filtered through his system seconds before; perhaps he would be himself when it was over, or perhaps he would not.

It frustrated Rhea to have to wait... but at least she had a _chance_ to interrogate him. And if he died, or his mind was destroyed... it served him right. He'd hurt little Cethleann, tried to _take_ her.

...But human action had saved her. She'd have to do something nice for the Golden Deer. Seteth wanted to shower honors on them, and Rhea was inclined to agree.

Surprisingly, though, of the trio of dragons, Cethleann was the one to act first in rewarding her benefactors; she had taken over the healing of the Adrestian who had rescued her, young von Aegir.

Rhea had allowed it; not only was Shamir and her Knight company there, but von Aegir needed the help. Even with Byleth's aid, he was still in delicate condition, and Cethleann had once been one of the greatest healers in the land; even having lost so much of her memory in her great sleep, Cethleann was still probably better at healing than anyone now alive. If anyone could help him, she could.

Rhea finished off her tea, and gave a happy sigh.

What a _lovely_ day.

-

What was she going to do now?

Edelgard woke up after a night of nightmares that only Dorothea's sweet gift could blunt into peaceful sleep, worse than usual; she almost remembered them in the morning, something of that loose arm falling, of Jeritza's terrible scream, which she'd never heard him make before.

( Standing there on that field, so surprised and shocked that she forgot to lie and hide her emotions, thank whatever gods may be that Claude was distracted, that no one thought to look at her; and thank her Eagles, who moved her away fast, who escorted her away quickly under Hubert's whispered command.)

She awoke... and simply sat there, in the morning light. With no one around to see- not even Hubert- Edelgard let her hands tremble, though no tears came from her eyes, she was still dry as bone towards her own grief.

What was she going to do now?

She... normally she would just... push through. Push past it. Find a task to focus on until the pain and the hurt got subsumed into her fury, that was what the great furnace of her soul was _for._ Keep moving, keep moving, and the dead and the past would fall behind.

( This is why Edelgard always looks to the future; if she runs to it fast enough, her past cannot catch her.)

But the engine is stalled. There was nothing to _do_ , her hands itched for her axe and her brain ached for a task and... and there was _nothing_. The monastery was temporarily shut down in the wake of what she'd heard other students calling the Midnight Duel just seconds after it was done, with the capitals something you could hear in their voices. Security had increased so much that it was too dangerous to even _begin_ pondering leaving the monastery to visit her forces.

If it was available, she'd go to the training ground, work out her frustrations on some helpless wooden target, chop and chop and chop until the axework eased her aches... but it was shut, too. It was shut down in particular, in a way, because Jeritza had mostly handled it, and now... now he was gone.

Jeritza. Oh, her Jeritza, her first recruit... Jertiza, whom she could not save from himself, whom she tried to give targets too so the beast inside his skull could feed safely, and not on the innocent...

Her hands shook. She could not cry for him; her hands would have to express her regret, with their shaking, with the urge they had do _something_ in honor of her fallen. Her breath ached in her chest, in her heart, she _hurt_ , and she could do nothing about it. For all that an Eagle was her family's symbol, Edelgard herself had more in common with the sharks that infested Enbarr's waters; she had to keep moving, or she would die.

But there was nowhere to go, nothing to _do_ , she couldn't trust herself to go outside of her room- she might reveal something, she might make a mistake, she... she could do something _wrong_ , and fail Jeritza, make his sacrifice _meaningless_.

So Edelgard paced in her room, some part of her irrationally afraid that she would suffocate if she stopped, moving without going anywhere; back and forth, back and forth, chewing on her pain like Oroborous with its tail.

There would be consequences. Thales would be displeased; her great champion had failed. He... he would retaliate.

( Visions flickering through her mind, punishments visited upon her; in allegiance and alliance, so Thales said, but he was her master, as sure and certain as one owns a dog one has specially trained.)

One of the three dragons she knew of in Garreg Mach still walked freely, and worse, they knew someone was after them now. Maybe they'd think it was a random attack- Jeritza had done enough of those, had not been able to wrangle the great beast inside himself down long enough to stop himself from attacking the innocent- but if they did not, if they _suspected_...

Then Jeritza would not be the only Adrestian dying at Rhea's hands this month.

Edelgard paced in her room, and her hands trembled.

-

It was weird, to see Lysithea looking so small.

Claude sat next to her, playing chess with Hilda, who was indulging him despite being terrible at the game. One had to do _something_ to pass the time; Lysithea wasn't doing much, other than laying there and looking... little.

The room was located in one of the many side-passages of Garreg Mach, a rarely-used area that held a more serious infirmary for long-term care. Manuela had joked about dusting the beds off before letting them in; most of the wounds students took were lesser matters, but Lysithea and Ferdinand were expected to be here for at last a week, if not longer in the latter's case. The stone around them had no windows, and was lit only by a thin magical torch along one wall, leaving the room mostly comfortably shrouded in shadows.

_Appropriate_ , Claude thought. _Shadow was what she was, after all; maybe it'll help heal her._

The room contained a single great bed, upon which Lysithea lay, two chairs and a table, alongside a long shelf on one wall full of medical equipment. One door led into the room; it led out into the hallway. Ferdinand was in the room next to this one, and normally

The bed's size made Lysithea look even smaller, and that bothered Claude. He'd made fun of her short height before, teasing the girl some part of him thought of as his weird little sister, but... somehow it felt wrong, to see her like this.

It was like seeing someone naked when you weren't supposed to; he almost felt ashamed to see Lysithea lessened so. Lysithea was big as the night sky on the inside, she was angry and alive and _fierce_ ; she was not this quietly slumbering lump of thin flesh and pale hair, looking almost deflated.

Claude privately resolved that he would never speak of how she looked, laying there. Let her think she'd rested after her great battle with grace and elegance; that was how the story would tell it, and after all she'd done, Lysithea deserved a little fairy-tale grace. Let her think she'd slept as peacefully as the elven maiden from the stories of sleeping beauties and deadly thorns.

( The Fodlan version was a bit different than the one he'd heard as a youth in Almyra; in Fodlan, the maiden was awoken by her true love, a fellow noblewoman, and the evil witch who cursed her was banished by their love; while in Almyra, the sleeping beauty forced herself awake out of sheer anger so she could punch out the witch in person. Cultural differences, he supposed.)

Hell, she was a Deer, wasn't she? Something of the Fae was always upon the golden House; let her embrace it, he thought, as he finished destroying Hilda's last bastion of resistance.

“ So I've suffered enough defeats at your hands,” Hilda said. “ We should swap sides; I'm tired of being the bad guy.”

“ You need all the help you can get,” Claude teased her, as he knocked over her white king. “ White goes first, you've got that going for you. If you were playing the good guys, I'd crush you even faster; though that might work out, it's almost time for Ignatz and Lorenz to take over. We might have time for just one quick game.”

“ Claude, this is cruel and unusual punishment,” Hilda complained. “ I come here to keep you company while we watch over sweet Lysithea and poor Ferdinand, and this is what you do. You viciously beat me.”

“ My true nature is revealed,” the Black King said, adding a false-dramatic cackle to his words. “ I enjoy brutalizing my subordinates. My apologies, I should have told you I was an operatic villain before you became my retainer.”

“ Fiend!” Hilda responded, then giggled softly. “ I should have brought a book; not like I could have read it in this dim light, but then I'd at least have something to hit you with. Watching somebody sleep is boring, when it isn't a little creepy. I'm going to poke my head into Ferdinand's room again while you set us up again.”

The door behind her opened, and a cool, calm voice spoke.

“ Don't bother,” Shamir said, as she entered the room. “ Flayn wanted to be alone with him. Said she wanted to focus on him without distractions. I came by to tell you to stay out; I'll be in the corridor keeping watch.”

“ Thank you for the warning, Shamir,” Claude said, giving her a lazy salute. “ Though I don't like the idea of Cethleann being alone with Ferdinand.”

“ Oh?” Shamir said.

“ Yeah. She's too nice, I don't trust her,” Claude said, grinning to show he didn't mean it. “ Somebody that nice _has_ to have a dark secret. I bet she's a ghoul.”

“ I- what?” Shamir said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in amusement.

“ Ghoul,” he said, recalling one of the myths of his homeland. “ They eat corpses. She's in there right now eating him, I bet. He'll disappear and we'll never know any better. Tricked by niceness.”

“ I don't think Flayn eats people,” Shamir said, and lost her battle with her own amusement; her taste in humor had always ran to the dark and the absurd, and the image of sweet little Flayn devouring Ferdinand was right in her sweet spot.

“ That's a sentence no one has ever said before,” Hilda commented. “ And he's not dead _yet_ , Claude, she can't eat him until he's a corpse.”

“ You're right, she's probably in there seasoning him up for later,” he said. “ Just putting some paprika on him, maybe a little chili pepper. Adrestians like hot food, at least, hotter than the rest of Fodlan, so she's just honoring his culture, you know? And you gotta let that stuff kinda marinate a bit to really get the flavor in deep.”

“ I'm telling Seteth all of this,” Shamir said.

“ You're a dead man, Claude,” Hilda said. “ I'll do my best to remember you as you were- rambling about Flayn being a cannibal.”

“ Wait,” Claude said, “ That's it! That's why Seteth is so careful and cautious with his sister. He knows she's a ghoul, so he tries to keep her away from others for her own safety and theirs. Seteth, nobly trying to keep his monster sister from eating people...”

“ Claude, what in the Goddess' name are you talking about?” Lorenz said as he arrived. “ What's this about Flayn eating people?”

Ignatz looked as if someone had poleaxed him- his mouth kept opening, as if he wanted to interject, but did not know _which_ part of this bullshit to address first.

“ Just pondering what she's doing alone with Ferdinand,” Claude said. “ Flayn's a sweetheart, which means she's hiding something. Somebody that nice always has a terrible dark secret.”

“ And you went straight to cannibalism?” Lorenz asked incredulously. “ Claude, if you'll forgive me, but what the hell?”

Claude and Hilda laughed as Ignatz shut his mouth, and got a sudden expression of understanding on his face; inspiration had struck.

“ When this rumor gets all over the monastery, I'm going to make sure Seteth knows it was your fault,” Shamir said, but she was grinning wide, a strange expression for the Dagdan. “ Anyway, I'm going to watch the hallway until she's done.”

“ Good! Tell Seteth! He should know that truth wants to be free,” Claude called after her as she left. He rose up from his seat, putting the board and the pieces back in their wooden case and latching it shut before putting it in his bag. “ He can't keep hiding this forever!”

“ We'll be leaving,” Hilda said to her fellow Deer, stepping smoothly into giving commands while her commander was busy acting foolish. “ Next shift is Raphael and Leonie. Flayn is in Ferdinand's room right now, working on him personally; she wanted no interruptions, which is what started the entire... flesh-eating discussion.”

Lorenz shook his head. “ I... I am going to presume that sweet Flayn is not currently devouring Ferdinand alive.”

“ Actually, I'm pretty sure she's just seasoning him-” Claude began, before a helpless case of the giggles struck him.

Lorenz continued as Claude laughed. “ I am also going to presume she is not currently spicing him up. In fact, I am going to pretend this conversation _never happened._ ”

“ A wise decision,” Hilda said.

“ How is she?” Ignatz asked, nodding his head towards Lysithea.

“ Same old, same old,” Claude said, sobering up as he looked at Lysithea, so mighty, reduced so much. “ Healing, but slowly. Lysithea will be fine; the healers all agree she passed out before her magic could totally consume her. Ferdinand is in worse shape; Byleth saved his life but every healer I've talked to says he might be stuck in a coma for the rest of his life. If not that, then when he wakes up he'll be much weakened; Byleth had the brute force to save him, but not the delicate touch needed to repair the damage.”

Lorenz sighed, and put a hand over his heart. “ Noble Ferdinand,” he said. “ He should not be hurt, just because he was brave.”

“ No,” Claude agreed. “ If the world was fair, though... well, I think we all know it isn't. All we can do is hope he comes out of this okay, and support him if he wakes.”

“ Our poor friends,” Lorenz said, looking down at Lysithea. “ ...It seems wrong, for her to be so quiet.”

“ Yeah,” Claude admitted, a little surprised to hear his own sentiments echoed by _Lorenz_ , of all people.

Ignatz looked down at her. “ I wonder if her twin Crests are making it harder for her,” he said. “ She did say they drained her... might not be helping with her recovery.”

“ True,” Claude said, looking down at her too. “ The healers said she was recovering, but who knows how much the two Crest thing is hampering her? Still, they didn't really know what to do about her second Crest- that's just... it's not something anyone's seen before. Some think it's a miracle, since of course they don't know _how_ she got the second Crest; I heard one even say she only manifested it last night, to fight the Reaper.”

“ A sweet story,” Lorenz said, “ but not the truth; though _I_ will not be sharing the reality with anyone. That is Lysithea's to tell, and she gave it to us in confidence; I will not be the one to break that trust.”

“ _Nobody_ better break that trust,” Claude said, tearing his eyes away from little hurt Lysithea. “ Not unless they had a damn good reason, like trying to save her life. I'd hate to kick someone out of the Deer for telling her secrets; she was brave to share them in the first place.”

( _Braver than me_ , some part of him snarked, and he acknowledged the truth with grudging acceptance. Claude did not lie to himself, which was, perhaps, his most useful character trait, and at Garreg Mach, a rarity among royalty.)

“ Doubt anyone'll do that,” Ignatz said. “ You guys get going now; we don't want to wake her before her time. Sleeping beauties need their rest.”

Claude _almost_ asked Ignatz if he wanted to be the one to kiss her awake, but with effort, restrained himself. Besides, given Lysithea's personality, she was much more likely to prefer the Almyran version of the tale.

“ Be seeing you,” Claude said, and with a quick salute, him and Hilda left, to walk the halls of Garreg Mach.

As they were walking, Hilda said, “ You know, given her unusual situation, we need someone to look her over,” she said. “ Somebody who's a Crest expert.”

“ True,” Claude said, as he opened a door at the hallway's end and stepped out into the main area of the Church proper, where the teacher's offices were. “ Where are we going to stumble on someone like that here, though?”

As if on cue, Hanneman passed by, reading a book entitled _History of Crests_ , muttering to himself about how Crest traits were passed on and the means by which this could be made more or less reliable. Dangling out of his pocket was a book entitled _Crest Research in the Alliance_ , dog-eared and often flipped through; a paper on Crest research fell out of his pocket, because the universe was sending Claude and Hilda not a sign, but a _message_.

They watched him go, and then Claude looked at Hilda.

“ I won't tell anyone we didn't immediately think of Hanneman if you won't,” he said, and the mountain woman nodded vigorously.

-

Alone, Flayn looked down at the sleeping Ferdinand, and pondered the forbidden.

Her father never wanted her to spread her blood. Rhea, specifically, had forbidden her. She was the last of the dragons of the light, children of sunlight; there was tremendous power in her veins, and should knowledge of it get out, their enemies would find them. She'd given it to Hevring, the first Flayn, back in the day, but that was it...

But now... alone with him, Byleth having left a bit earlier and Shamir having left the room at her explicit request... she found herself considering giving Ferdinand her blood.

His condition... it was bad. Some of the worst she'd ever seen. Byleth had saved his life, but even her incredible power could only do so much; Ferdiannd lay there, his veins weak and aching, his heart pumping slowly and fitfully, his breath shallow and jagged. He looked... he looked little, he looked lessened, he did not look like he had just last night. Noble was his title, and unlike so many of his kin he deserved it; in the midst of her terror, he had rescued her, with no thought for himself.

( The image that would linger in Cethleann all her days- Ferdinand, tackling Death itself with no fear in his eyes, Ferdinand with no fear, a heroic knight to stand against a villainous one, and save a dragon and a maiden both.)

Draconic blood could support his human flesh, _save_ him...

Without it, he might recover. Hard to tell; the best healers in Fodlan were here, but he was so hurt... even if he recovered, he would never be what he had been. Not again. He would be weakened all his life for his great deed; he would be punished for doing good.

And that was assuming he recovered at all. Perhaps he would never recover. Perhaps he would be like this, forever, ever sleeping, the way... the way she had been. Or, worse, to sleep a little while, and then awaken, to a world so strange- so unfamiliar...

A tear ran down her face at the thought. Her own private nightmare, inflicted on another, one who deserved better.

( Unbeknownst to many, Cethleann is the other person at Garreg Mach who drinks coffee like Hubert does; she fears sleep so much that the bitter drink has become one of her favorites, one of her ways of staying awake when the fear of eternal sleep weighs too heavy upon her.)

...It wasn't _fair_.

Childish as it was, that phrase made up the guts of it. Cethleann was aware that her own emotional maturity had been... compromised... that some combination of her father's over-protectiveness, her long sleep, and her knowledge of her race's extinction- the lingering thought that she was one of the last of her people- had... done something to her. She was no expert on minds or hearts or souls, she knew only how to heal the body; most days, she didn't question her nature, just drifted about as her strangely ancient-childish self. Her mind was... different, and she had learned to simply not think about it.

But... but this... this didn't feel like a childish pout. This felt like truth. It wasn't _fair._ He'd saved her life. He didn't deserve to be trapped like she had been; worse than she had been. He was human, his sleep would not heal him, he'd simply be here, all the life he might have lived fading every day. All because he had seen her in trouble and chosen to save her, and paid such a terrible price...

He'd saved her. Couldn't she try to save him?

The blood in her veins might heal him... or kill him. He had a Crest- that was on his charts- her father's crest. Usually Crests did not mix... but this one time... perhaps the degraded blood inside him her father had gifted his ancestors would not be so opposed. Maybe... maybe some of her blood would strengthen him. She was her father's daughter, after all; half that blood in him was blood in her, they shared something in their veins. Perhaps the Crests would not fight, or perhaps her Crest would simply be subsumed into her father's, or vice versa, and he would come out of this alive.

Or maybe she was just going to kill him.

_Still better than wasting away_ , Cethleann thought, as she pulled a syringe from a nearby medical kit. Auntie Rhea had always done this with such dramatics, cups and grails and accouterments of human religion; even before she had become Archbishop of this religion, she'd... she'd always been fond of human religion, according to her father, and Cethleann's own scattered recollections of her deepest youth. Her decision to make a human church was, perhaps, not entirely a result of cold calculation, for her goal of protecting the remnants of her people.

...But Cethleann had never had a chance to discover what kind of things she liked, not before the war and the death of all her people rendered her strange, so she was stuck doing this in the practical way.

The needle went into her veins. She squeaked- ouch, ouch, _ouch!-_ but the girl whom modern humans called Flayn had steady hands as she drew out her red, red blood.

She moved to his arm, fingers hunting the pathways of blood inside his human form. She had to do this fast, before anyone could question what she was doing.

There; the soft round tube in his skin, the thin walls through which his lifeblood poured. The light inside her let her healer's sense look inside- there, her father's Crest, but also something else, something powerful... the remnants of Byleth's efforts, like the embers of some vast bonfire, still warm with inner heat and still swimming inside Ferdinand's blood. Strange, that might felt... _familiar_...

But she had no time to ponder that mystery, so she ignored it.

In the needle went, Ferdinand's face betraying no knowledge of pain.

_Let this work,_ Flayn prayed, not to a Goddess she did not remember, but to whatever force in the universe governed miracles, to the chaos that governed random chance, to anyone at all who might listen. _Please, be kind_.

( Perhaps it would listen. Ferdinand _was_ a Deer, after all.)

She pressed the plunger down, slowly, until there was nothing of her blood left.

No visible changes. There wouldn't be, not for... for a while. He would either die... or he would be restored.

But he would not be trapped in some twilight existence, the way she had been for so long.

It was all she could do. Flayn hid the needle in her personal bag, to be disposed of discreetly later in the pond, and gave herself and Ferdinand quick bandages over their arms, the vulnerary-soaked fabric quickly closing the small wounds and swiftly secreted away with the syringe.

She watched him for the next hour, her shift finally ending, other healers coming to take over. She left reluctantly, not wanting to abandon him; but her father wanted her near him at all times after the attack, had only begrudgingly granted her request to see to the boy herself.

As she left, she took one last glance back at him, and perhaps it was just her imagination... but she thought he breathed easier.

She clung to that hope as she left.

-

With nothing to do- neither orders from Edelgard regarding their great secret task, nor class- the Eagles had been left to hole up in their own little nests.

Bernadetta was busy practicing her needlework, and studying armor. Goddess knew that Edelgard would never _need_ armor made by Bernadetta- and she favored heavy metal at any rate, not workable leather- but it might be useful as a skill for patching up broken armor, busted shoes, ripped tents, or any of the hundred and one tasks leather could be put to.

Hubert had been busy in his room sketching out possible scenarios for the situation with Jeritza, to either pull Jertiza out or kill him before he could reveal any secrets. Most of them didn't pass even a cursory inspection, but that was why one planned ahead; you would eventually get a plan that _could_ work.

He'd already check in on Edelgard; she'd told him to leave her be... but he had an idea for that, too, how to help her.

Meanwhile, Dorothea and Petra just enjoyed the free day, mostly taking the free time to clean and organize their shared room. Dorothea had moved into Petra's room once the Deer started moving their own people around in the wake of the attempted assassination of Claude; she'd taken advantage of the Knights' turning a blind eye so she could be with her girl, a plan Petra heartily approved of.

Right now, room clean and neat, Petra sat in the warm heat of the sun coming in the window, Dorothea behind her on a shady spot on the bed, clipping her nails. Dorothea, meanwhile, ran her fingers through Petra's hair, braiding it as she went.

They did not talk of the war. Their own private agreement, made this morning; they would not talk today. They would think it over first, and not speak in haste. Last night... last night had changed things for both of them. After seeing all that power thrown around, and realizing just _what_ they'd signed on for, the dissonance between their leader's words and her actions.

Edelgard had told them of a noble war to save humanity; Edelgard had moved in concert with monsters to kidnap an innocent. Petra's sword hungered for worthy targets, not maidens in distress; Dorothea merely felt sick at the idea of hurting someone so innocent. Petra knew rulers had to be cruel sometimes, and accepted it... but she could not parse out how this incident _helped_ the cause any.

But for all her misgivings, some things remained true. Brigid was still strapped to Adrestia, and Dorothea was still a powerless commoner; what could they truly do?

So they took comfort in each other's presence, and pondered what to do, not sharing their thoughts and yet still being of one mind.

-

The conversation had been short, with Claude and Hilda.

Hanneman sat at his desk, those two noteworthies of the Alliance having just left his room. Funds had been promised, but Hanneman wasn't focused on that; no, his attention was focused on a small portrait on his desk.

It was a small thing, the portrait, a glass-framed replica of a person in miniature. A woman's visage was there, whose happy smile belied the horror of her last few days, treated as breeding stock by cruel nobility. His sister, over whose dead body Hanneman had sworn to end the Crest system.

...If Claude and Hilda were telling the truth- and what reason would they have, to _not_ tell the truth?- then, right now, only a few hallways away, there was yet another young woman, treated poorly by those obsessed with Crests- and for all that Hanneman loved studying Crests, he was far from blind to the cruelties of the system, he saw it more clearly than anyone else. It was why his great, secret plan existed- the artificial Crests, which would render natural-born Crests redundant, and put paid to the system that had claimed his sister's life.

( Hanneman was wiser than Edelgard; she had no plan to subvert the Crest system save force of will, and in time, her reforms would fade as memory of her did... but Hanneman sought to cut them off at their knees. In the long-term, his plan was the one that would work.)

Claude had warned him not to speak of what he said; had said that he was betraying Lysithea's trust to tell him what he had, but that he felt it was needed in order to save her life. Hanneman understood that well; it was not the first great secret shared with him, over the years, and he would safeguard it as dearly as if it was his own.

And now... the task before him was clear.

He pulled out his schedule, a great, weighty book heavy with meetings and seminars and tours of Fodlan, all the things he had been planning to do, all the great work he had prepared for months in advance. Each little notation was something he could not miss, some important function or party or meeting.

He drew a thick line of ink across all of them, and above that line of ink, he wrote only two words: _Cure Lysithea._

Schedule thus full, Hanneman began to plan out the creation of a miracle.

( Behold Hanneman at his best; the scholar who would change the world.)


	10. Awakening, Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand wakes up... and stuff starts to HAPPEN!

**Awakening, Promotion**

The first thing Ferdinand von Aegir was aware of was sound- the soft sounds of people in the room. He was not alone; and the tones, they were nice, he knew these people, even if his half-asleep brain didn't know precisely who they were, right now. But other memories and sensations registered; one voice made him think of tea and etiquette, the other made him think of training drills and weapons practice; one voice smooth, one voice rough, noble and common dialects mingling.

His mind drifted slowly... up, up. He saw something, in the darkness before he truly awoke, the vaguest impression- a new shape, like a Crest, but it wasn't any Crest he recognized, made of something that glittered, bright as an underground star, light in the deepest earth... diamond?...

He awoke, and opened his eyes.

“ I... Lorenz?” he croaked out through a dry throat. “ Leonie?”

His voice was weak, barely a whisper- but his friends heard him anyway, turning away from their conversation.

“ Ferdinand!” Lorenz said. “ Be at peace, my friend. You've been hurt badly, and slept for two days.”

“ ..Two?” he said, and then memory returned- thunderbolts and reapers and laughing skull masks, dead horses and a shield as a weapon and...

And Flayn, gentle face horrified, crying before her would-be killer.

“ Flayn-” he managed to choke out.

“ She's alive,” Leonie said. “ She's alive, and she's unhurt.”

Lorenz gave him a grin. “ She told us of how you'd saved her.”

Safe... he'd saved her. All his hurt had been worth something, then.

...That wasn't so bad.

“ Okay,” he said.

“ Go get the healers,” Leonie said. “ I'll keep watch.”

Lorenz nodded, and as he left, Ferdinand licked his lips with a tongue just as dry.

“ Water,” he asked, and Leonie took a canteen from her belt- of course she had one ready, she was Leonie, she was never _not_ prepared- and gently put it to his lips.

“ Just a little,” she said. “ Don't want you choking.”

To Ferdinand, that first cool drink was better than the finest tea he'd ever had.

-

Three hours later, the healers had confirmed the existence of a miracle; Ferdinand was recovering, and at a tremendous rate. His vitals were good- better than good- at the rate he was going, he might recover before Lysithea did.

( The healers also made note that his Crest was doing... odd things... reports Flayn, in her position as his personal healer, received first... and threw away. Her father wasn't the only person who could make paper disappear.)

In those three hours, Lorenz and Leonie had only left his side when the healers demanded it, though they sent messengers out to tell the other Deer. Lorenz was having some of his tea equipment brought so Ferdinand could have a proper cup; Leonie was cheerfully mocking the both of them for their overdependence on the substance, a charge neither denied.

When the three hours were up, and the healers said he could handle visitors, the Golden Deer crowded his sickroom, flooding in like beloved relatives.

( Ferdinand, who was estranged from his father, and for whom family meetings had always been complicated by savage politics, felt a warmth at seeing them he'd never felt at the sight of his own blood; a feeling he had no name for, of dandelions and whistles, and trees growing together in old woods.)

A chorus of voices greeted him, but it was Claude who cut through the crowd.

“ Okay, ya'll, one at a time!” he said, laughing. “ And me first, as House Head! I'm pulling rank.”

“ With Lysithea incapacitated, you've really let the power go to your head,” Hilda told him, and Claude laughed.

“ With her asleep, no one is left who can challenge me,” he admitted with a mock cackle, before turning back to Ferdinand. “ My good man! Good to see you up and about! Lorenz couldn't run the One Stop Tea Shop all by himself.”

“ I'm sure he did our little corner well,” Ferdinand said, amused as Lorenz, receiving his brewing equipment from Raphael's big hands, began preparing the Adrestian's favorite tea. “ I do hope my convalescence wasn't an inconvenience.”

“ It was, but we choose to forgive you,” Claude said. “ Teach wanted to fail you out of the class, but I convinced her that merely surviving against the Reaper should really count as at _least_ a C.”

Byleth gave Claude a blank look that any other group of people would believe was emotionless; her precious Deer, however, understood the message it sent, which was _Claude, behave._

( She wore that look a lot.)

“ I'm glad you're okay, Ferdinand,” Byleth said, as she turned from Claude... and put a hand on his hand, a small gesture that, from his emotionless teacher, spoke volumes, along with the way her eyes softened, just a little. “ We thought we were going to lose you.”

Ferdinand smiled at her, gripped her strong, cold fingers tight.

“ Wouldn't a life-or-death battle be Pass/Fail, anyway?” Hilda asked. “ The Reaper lost an arm and Ferdinand didn't, that means he's ahead.”

“ The Reaper lost an arm?” Ferdinand said, wracking his brain and coming up blank. “ I am... certain I did not hack his arm off.”

“ No, but Lysithea did,” Claude said. “ She's sleeping in a nearby room. Took that arm right off, snicker-snack!”

“ I was so proud of her,” Leonie said with a grin. “ I only taught her for like, a week, and suddenly, she's tearing the arms off of her enemies. Best student I've ever had!”

“ Can't claim credit for that,” Byleth agreed. “ That was all you.”

Leonie smield, glad to have one-up on her rival.

“ You can claim credit for knowing all that magic, though,” Raphael said, looming in the back of the room, and weathering Leonie's sudden glare with good humor.

“ Thank you, Raphael,” Byleth said, the smallest tug of her lips a sign of smugness that infuriated Leonie.

“ Why do you have to backstab me, you big oaf?” she asked, and Raphael grinned at her.

“ Just telling the truth!” he replied.

“ Little Lysithea?” Ferdinand said, his smile growing wider. “ Killing the Reaper. Incredible. Who knew she had such strength in her?”

“ I did,” Ignatz said with a small smile. “ I always knew she had greatness in her.”

“ Well... killed? Not... not precisely,” Marianne admitted, from the back of the room, half hiding behind Raphael's great form. Even amidst the Deer, who were the only people in all the world the shy bluenette was truly comfortable with, she preferred to be hidden and safe. “ He didn't die.”

“ His arm was cut off and he still escaped?” Ferdinand said in wonder. “ I knew he was strong, but I didn't know the villain had so much power...”

“ No,” Claude said, sighing. “ He passed out... but he turned out to be Mercedes' brother, Jeritza.”

Ferdinand paused, absorbing that information, as frowns filled the faces of the Herd.

“ No,” he said, but the somber looks of the Deer told him the truth. “ I... oh. How is she doing?”

“ She's with him still,” Leonie said. “ I mean, it _is_ her brother... but I think we all know Rhea's gonna cut his head off.”

“ And then Flayn will eat him,” Hilda said, and her and Claude snickered as Lorenz groaned.

“ I... what?” Ferdinand said.

“ Don't ask,” Lorenz begged. “ Let the madness die. Two days of it is too much.”

“ Don't worry about it,” Claude said, winking. “ I'll tell you later.”

“ I dread that moment,” Ferdinand said in pure honesty.

“ It's good to have you back,” Byleth said, cutting in before the absurdity could reach a crescendo. “ The healers... we were worried you wouldn't recover.”

“ Teach saved you,” Marianne said, because Claude had infected everyone with his idioms. “ She was the first healer there- Mercedes and me kept you stable, but her light kept you alive.”

“ Then I owe all of you,” he said. “ Thank you.”

“ Flayn finished your healing,” Byleth said in her monotone. “ You owe her, too. She must have done a fine job... they say you'll be fine. We were afraid at first you'd be... weakened... hurt permanently from this, but now they say you seem to be making a complete recovery.”

“ Good,” Ferdinand said. “ I'm glad.”

“ Me too,” Claude said. “ If you died, we'd have to build you a tower, and I didn't want to do that.”

“ A tower?” Ferdinand said. “ Why?”

“ To memorialize you!” Claude said. “ I was going to name it the Ferdinand von Spire.”

Dead silence greeted his words. Raphael and Leonie had identical looks of confusion, Lorenz appeared to be fighting an aneurysm, Hilda grinned, Ignatz shook his head sadly, and Marianne, safely hidden behind Raphael, fought the giggles that tried to take her.

Meanwhile, as the silence dragged on, Claude's grin merely grew wider, until finally Byleth turned the full range of her emotions on him- meaning she almost kind-of frowned.

“ Claude.”

“ We were going to burn your body first, though,” he said, barreling along as his teacher continued to give her best attempt at a glare to him. “ To make sure Flayn didn't get it. A Ferdinand von Pyre.”

Lorenz groaned, and Marianne lost her composure entirely, giggling helplessly behind Raphael. Ignatz grinned despite himself, and Byleth's face twitched as she tried to keep disapproving.

“ Claude, why are you like this? I _know_ you are capable of being better,” Leonie said. “ I'm going to tell Edelgard about this.”

“ I'll just call you a Ferdinand von Liar,” he said, waggling his eyebrows, and that was it; Byleth made a distressed sound like steam leaving a teapot, Hilda broke out into open laughter, and even Leonie had to grin at the ridiculous quip.

Ferdinand laughed, too. It felt good, to be with these people, to be among them, even in their absurdities.

He'd chosen to die; and he'd gotten to live. Few people were ever rewarded for doing the right thing... but Ferdinand was apparently one of the lucky ones.

( Of course he was. He was a Golden Deer, beloved of chaos.)

He laughed until his ribs hurt, then laid back with a sigh.

“ So... why did all of you let Claude in here, again?”

More laughter.

“ They couldn't keep me out,” Claude said, grin widening as another pun occurred to him. “ Now, I'm sure you must be-”

“ Don't you do it,” Lorenz interrupted as he brought Ferdinand a cup of tea, preventing Claude from saying 'Ferdinand von Tired'. “ You've been on thin ice with me since the cannibal Flayn thing, and I swear, Goddess as my witness, I will kill you with this teacup.”

“ I wouldn't defend you,” Hilda said. “ I gotta go with Lorenz on this one.”

“ I will assist,” Byleth said.

“ I shall stop, then,” Claude said. “ Better save it anyway. Never know when I'll need a bad pun.”

“ Never, hopefully,” Ferdinand groaned as he took a sip of the hot drink, perfectly made. “ Thank you, Lorenz, you're a saint.”

“ Speaking of saints, I should go get 'Flayn',” Claude said, making air quotes.

“ Why the air quotes?” Hilda asked.

“ Because that's not her real name,” he said. “ I caught Seteth giving her a dressing down before all this incident; he called her Cethleann. Normally I'd save that for a different time, but with the Deer gathered here I figured I'd keep ya'll up to date on it. Secrets, after all; we need to know them, even if they seem innocuous.”

“ Was that why you called her Cethleann in front of Shamir?” Hilda asked, and he nodded.

“ She didn't notice it at the time, but she knew who I was talking about,” he said. “ Don't know why, but apparently they're hiding Flayn, and she's named after the saint.”

“ And the Reaper was after her specifically,” Lorenz said, rubbing his chin. “ Interesting. I wonder what they're hiding from...”

“ Everybody in the Church is hiding something,” Leonie complained. “ Everybody's got some weird-ass secret. Like Catherine- she was Thunderbolt Cassandra, but she won't admit to it, even if it's obvious. It's like Rhea specifically recruited people with issues.”

“ Or people who had nowhere else to go,” Ignatz opined, and the rest of the group nodded after pondering that.

“ Go easy on any mystery surrounding Flayn,” Ferdinand asked. “ She saved me, after all, and I saved her; I feel... obligated.”

“ Oh, I doubt it's anything _she's_ done,” Claude said, waving a hand. “ Flayn- or Cethleann, apparently- is a sweetheart. But it means she's running from something... or her family is.”

“ Something to think about,” Lorenz said. “ A shame Cethleann's a Saint's name, so it's terribly common. We need more information before we can begin digging; I'd like to know when they came to the monastery, that might give us an idea of a timeline.”

Claude nodded. “ Good thinking,” he said.

“ I hope it's nothing,” Ignatz said. “ Flayn's so nice...”

“ Yeah,” Claude said. “ She's harmless to anything but fish.”

“ I'm glad you agree,” Lorenz said. “ Flayn is harmless. Not a cannibal.”

“ What _are_ you going on about?” Ferdinand said, and Claude laughed, laughed so hard Hilda had to reply.

“ It's a joke,” she said. “ Fill you in later. And Lorenz, she would be a _ghoul_ , not a cannibal.”

“ What's the difference?” he said. “ He's still suggesting that innocent woman is eating people alive!”

“ No, ghouls only eat corpses,” Hilda said, as Claude finally recovered. “ Just the dead, not the living.”

( She didn't catch Claude's glance at her. She knew her stories... but those were _Almyran_ stories...)

Lorenz sighed and put a hand to his forehead.

“ Hey, speak of the devil,” Ignatz said as he looked out the open door. “ Here she comes.”

Flayn, who had, thankfully, missed the Deer's conversations, walked in, right up to Ferdinand's bedside, the Deer scooting around to give her room.

“ Ferdinand von Aegir?” she said, hesitant as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “ How do you feel?”

“ Good,” he said. “ Better than good; I am glad you are alive and unharmed, Flayn.”

He put Claude's revelation out of mind for the moment. Flayn or Cethleann, she went by Flayn, so that was how he'd greet her.

“ You saved me,” she said, and her voice began to break. “ You- you saved me, I can never repay you for that, you _saved_ me... I thought you were going to _die_...”

She started to sob, and it was Byleth who moved first, hugging her, offering comfort the way Aelfric had comforted her. Ferdinand simply put a hand to her hand, squeezing tight, as the Deer surged forward like a friendly tide, offering their support.

“ Hey, hey, he's alive now, it's okay,” Leonie said.

“ Yeah, everything worked out,” Ignatz said.

“ We're here,” Marianne offered. “ It's okay, we're here.”

“ Thank you,” Flayn said, and squeezed Ferdinand's hand tight.

-

That night, Ferdinand slept in the hospital bed for the last time... and inside him, things began to change.

Where two Crests should have met inside his skin and killed him, now- buoyed on the lingering touch of the Creator inside him- two Crests did something else, instead.

The Creator's power was all about Beginnings; and what better Beginning than the birth of the new?

The Crests mingled, and changed, became one thing that had never been before.

And unnoticed amidst his locks of red, a single strand of his hair turned sea-green.


	11. Paralogue: The Magician, Reversed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-promised Thales chapter- and Cornelia, too.
> 
> We're off the rails for good, children. Hang on tight.
> 
> The monsters have arrived.

**Paralogue:**

**The Magician, Reversed**

Thales was not best pleased.

He sat at his desk in Enbarr, reviewing the reports sent to him in the surprisingly spartan office he used when he had to wear his subracial disguise of Arundel. He was not looking at paper, but at a hologram made of light magic, displaying the facts for him to read, a sight that would have shocked any of his Adrestians servants (who would then be very quickly killed for seeing this secret of his.)

Bless ancient humanity's technology. He'd gotten the information the very night the disaster had taken place, and was thus the only person in Enbarr who knew of the Midnight Duel, as his informant was calling it. For the bestials, it would take days to learn of the events that had happened at Garreg Mach; for true humans like himself, it took only moments.

But making a decision, in that, the bestials and the Agarthans were more alike; it took more time. Thales had been wrestling with this issue for the past two days, pondering what to do about it.

The simple facts were these: at its most delicate stage, the operation at Garreg Mach was going, to use a term ancient humanity had once used, FUBAR.

(He wasn't sure what that word meant, but he'd been born from the tanks knowing it; Solon theorized it meant Fucked Up Beyond All Repair, but who knew? All Thales knew was that it felt good to say, and it meant something had gone very wrong.)

The weapon's servant had failed. He had failed in every possible way; he had failed to capture the Nabatean, he had failed to kill any bestials when he was caught, and he had failed to die when beaten. He'd have to send somebody to kill him before he woke up; he couldn't endanger the weapon, not now, not when they were so close to sinking a blade in the heart of the last of the Fell Star's wretched spawn.

It had to work.

( Cornelia had warned him of his obsession, warned him he was risking too much, but... every generation of Agarthans that had ever crawled out of the vats had wanted to be the one who would, finally, kill off the last remnants of the bedamned race. The extinction of dragons was their _first_ goal, and until it was done, they would never reclaim their place in the sun. Thales knew he was being risky, giving the weapon so much support, revealing so much of themselves to it... but he couldn't help it. He _had_ to be the dragonslayer, he had to free Agartha at long last. He'd rather see Shambhala burn then be just another link in the generations between ancient humanity's fall and its eventual triumphant rise.)

But other matters required his attention, too. Solon was going on and on about the need for Nabatean blood. He had some plan to turn the bestials against themselves, some trick that abused Nabatean blood and the bestial's reaction to the introduction of the extraterrestrial DNA. It was hard to tell _what_ it would do; Solon's ravings were so melodramatic that even long experience as the leader of Agartha didn't give Thales a clue what the hell he was talking about. In a society in which megalomania was a defining feature, Solon was in a class all his own.

Shame he was smart enough that Thales couldn't get rid of him.

Then there were matters going on in Shambhala directly- challenges to his leadership, as various factions heard of the fiasco at Garreg Mach. He needed to go home- assuage fears- make concessions- probably kill somebody. If he had to; he disliked killing fellow Agarthans. They were real people, after all, not like the bestials or- ancients forbid- the Fell Star's abominations.

Still, maintaining the neurotic mess that was Agartha and getting it shuffling in a single direction was like trying to tame a herd of feral cats, except some of the cats were explosive, and other cats were on fire, and he had to keep the two from mixing while also getting them together in just the right way so he could kill his enemies with the blastwave. Sometimes, you just had to break a few eggs, or skulls, as the situation presented itself.

Imagining them as cats made Thales chuckle; he'd always been fond of felines. Lovely creatures, tamed in the impossibly far-off days of humanity's beginning, in the time before the Fell Star's arrival upset the balance of all the world- something pure, unlike wyverns or pegasi or even horses. Like dogs, but more fun, with their insistent little ways, their simple assurance they were the most important beings in the world... it amused Thales, that level of arrogance. It was something you usually only found in people like Solon.

...What was he going to do? He'd need to threaten the weapon, show his displeasure... though he doubted he'd have to do anything more than intimidate her. He was long past the point where he needed to do physical harm to her; she had learned her lesson long ago. Some weapons were forged by measuring one's hand; this weapon was forged by raising his hand against her.

Not that he'd ever actually _touched_ the animal. The Agastya of Agartha did not need such crude, subracial methods; no, dark magic had entirely sufficed. A lash of night, made by the merest wave of his hand, left a greater impression on the child than any merely _physical_ blow would, and meant he didn't have to dirty himself with their filthy flesh.

So... first, make sure the weapon was aware of his displeasure. He wouldn't harm her so long as she bowed her head, though; it wasn't like the weapon was _particularly_ at fault for this. It would just be a reminder to her to pick better tools in the future; when Thales made a request of her, she was to treat it with _utmost_ seriousness. No more failures.

Then... what to do? They still needed to placate Solon, but... well, Solon was one of the people he feared would hunt his position. He needed... a counter.

...He sighed. Damnation. He hated to do this... but he needed the help, and of all the Agarthans, there was only one he trusted _not_ to backstab him and steal his job.

He tapped in the code, sending a message for her to answer him- and to his surprise, he was answered almost immediately. Huh. He'd figured he'd have to wait for her to get alone first, but apparently he'd caught her at a good time.

“ My Agastya?” Cornelia said, as her visage filled the air in hologram.

“ Cornelia,” he said. “ I require your assistance.”

“ I live to serve,” she said, a slow smile spreading on her face.

-

Thales was an idiot.

Cornelia had come to this conclusion many years before, and current events were just proving her right. She sat in her room in Faerghus alone, working at her desk, reviewing the files Thales had sent her on all that was going on, and swiftly picking through a meal that would have been a bit spare for a peasant. She didn't need to eat much, thanks to Agarthan technology, and viewed the act as a chore. She'd removed her own taste buds years ago simply so she would not be distracted by errant flavors; what little nutrition she still required, she ate quickly while doing other work.

And in this case, that other work was looking over Thales' notes and his actions. The notes were scattershot; she almost wondered if he'd been _drunk_ when he wrote these down. She sniffed a bit haughtily at the idea; it would not be the first time Thales had been intoxicated, though he had never made major decisions while in such a state before. Thales enjoyed a number of physical delights, and though he claimed to enjoy them in moderation, Cornelia- who had better self-control- found _any_ such enjoyment suspect.

Why could he not be like her? Cornelia had only two true delights, and both were _useful_ things; an enjoyment of the pain of others, and a love of scientific advancement. They helped her in her work; she liked hurting others, so she did not flinch away from terrible and necessary deeds, and advancing Agarthan science let them reclaim what was lost in the devastation Seiros had unleashed on them. They were useful- _practical._

Really, it was just a _shame_ that Thales, by accident of birth and skill at politics, had ended up the Agarthan leader. She was a superior being, in comparison... which meant even more work fell on her shoulders. To her fell the thankless job of fixing her superior's mistakes.

She sighed, rubbed her temples. Let's see... Thales was at Garreg Mach, as was an assassin named Kronya of no real importance and... oh, hell. _Solon._ Great.

Solon was an even bigger idiot than Thales, who at least had a few redeeming qualities- chief among them an understanding of when he was in over his head. The very reason he'd called Cornelia in from Faerghus was because they'd lost a trump card- and frankly, Cornelia couldn't _wait_ to experiment on this “Death Knight”, if for no other reason than because she found his outfit _ridiculous_. What in the _world_ was his armor supposed to be? He looked like his armor had been built by a demon who owed a spike merchant money.

( In Lysithea's room, keeping watch, Claude felt briefly vindicated, but didn't know why.)

Absurd. She'd have went for function over form in any case, but _especially_ when the form was so... vaudeville. Was his mask a _skull_?

She chuckled to herself. What a waste of resources, all for aesthetic. Rarely did she torture someone who deserved it, but for the armor suit alone, she felt like the Death Knight had earned whatever she was going to do to him.

She kept reviewing things, shaking her head as she did so. Thales had made the right decision, calling her in. Yes, for all his flaws, Thales had a strong instinct for knowing when he'd fucked up, and it had kept him the leader of Agartha for a long time... and was why Cornelia had never bothered to kill and replace him. For all Thales' recent mistakes, he was good at recognizing and utilizing talent, and he knew Cornelia was the best of the Agarthans at whatever task he put her to. It was why she'd be running the Faerghus Dukedom, once plans kicked off; he needed his best in the west.

Now, Solon, on the other hand... ugh. If Cornelia could figure out how to kill the bobble-headed freak, she'd go for it... he was a clear case of letting one's intelligence go to one's head. She had no doubts that he was smarter than she was; but the irony was that, because he _knew_ how intelligent he was, he acted stupid. He assumed he had won every mental confrontation before it happened, and had forgotten that mental _potential_ and mental _skill_ were different things entirely, no matter how he'd experimented on himself to increase his brain's power.

Arrogance was a terminal illness, no matter how justified; it was why Cornelia had learned to hedge her bets. Talented as she was, any of her enemies could be better than her, or just get plain lucky.

But such a practical point had never occurred to Solon. What was that title he'd claimed for himself? “Savior of all.” _Gag_. Agarthans, Cornelia included, had god complexes- she would not deny it- but there was a certain... _practical_ aspect of things that you had to embrace. Even godlike power was, at day's end, able to be defeated; had they themselves not killed the Fell Star, despite all her strength? Even the divine was vulnerable.

You had to be pragmatic with it, careful...

...Solon was going to be a problem. He would _not_ like her presence, he'd view her as “interfering.” Which she was, but only because someone who thought of themselves as a “savior” was almost certainly going to have rather... _dramatic_ plans in place. The kind of plans that required lots of sacrifices and lots of big, impressive moments... and often worked a lot less often than simpler tricks.

_I mean, sometimes you have to go loud, but if you have a choice, always go for the subtle first_ , Cornelia thought, as she finished her small repast and wiped her fingers clean on a wet napkin, drying them swiftly with a nearby towel. You could always go big later if you had to, but you could never return to being quiet from going loud.

Cornelia sipped her tea, tasteless on her tongue, as she considered the other problem Thales, and thus Cornelia, had... the weapon. Edelgard... she was so very strong. And dangerous... her minion, this Jeritza, had failed, but that was no mark on her. Cornelia had been studying Thales' notes... and while Thales _claimed_ he was keeping her on a tight leash... to Cornelia's eyes, it looked like he was giving Edelgard enough rope to hang all Agartha with.

Cornelia flipped to the part about her troops, and Thales' best guesses as to their numbers. The army of the Flame Emperor gave her some pause... all volunteers, and while they weren't the best soldiers- note that a group of Garreg Mach's students had been pummeling them stupid- there were still quite a lot of them.

How many? They didn't know, and _that_ rankled Cornelia badly. They had so few spies among Edelgard's ranks, most having been weeded out. Not all... but the Agarthans survived on information. They were too few in number to rely on brute force- one reason they needed the bestials on board in the first place. Cornelia _hated_ relying on these subhuman cultures, the things those damn dragons had made after Agartha lost its war with the Fell Star... but they were too weak to do ought else.

_Someday_ , she promised herself, as she had done all her life, _there will be nothing sentient under the sun save the true humanity, and we will scrub the land clean as we rise to take our place with the dawn._

But those were thoughts for later. The future to be striven for... which meant figuring out the problems of today. Hmm...

...The job was bigger than she could handle alone. She needed more hands, and in particular she needed _Agarthan_ hands; she needed a couple of people to help her out. Someone to help watch Solon and keep him in check... and someone to give her an edge, just in case Edelgard decided to bite the hands that had made her.

( These lesser beings... so much like dogs. Maybe that was why Cornelia had never wanted to have a pet; dealing with these subracials and their ridiculous tribal affiliations was too similar.)

Cornelia ran down her mental checklist of those she could trust- or, at least, those whose treachery could be predicted, circumvented, and rendered toothless. Many of her fellow Agarthans owed her favors, and most knew not to cross her... but for these particular problems, her mind went to the two she trusted most.

One would be easy to get a hold of. Her loyalty was unquestionable, being an old friend of Cornelia's since they had first emerged from the vats, her desires and Cornelia's so opposed that they never came into conflict. Cornelia's tastes ran towards biology and inflicting pain; but her dear friend was obsessed with mechanical inventions and food, in that exact order.

Bias was a weird one, not least of which because of her name; Cornelia wasn't sure _why_ she'd taken that name on, save that she seemed to like the sound of it. Still, she was quite competent, for all that she was a bit weird even by Agarthan standards, and she wasn't doing anything of importance at the moment, either; she'd complained of such to Cornelia recently.

Thales would have no qualms about letting her out of Shambhala for a while. Cornelia even had a skin ready for her to wear- a Faerghus doctor, who had hunted down evidence of patients disappearing from her hospital, tracking it with surprising skill. Cornelia had been genuinely impressed, and had told the woman just how impressed she was, right before she chucked her in the acid tank.

Why, even that woman's _motivation_ had impressed; a simple desire to protect her patients, even the homeless nobodies Cornelia had been targeting. Fascinating. Even in Faerghus, for all the lower culture's whining about honor, most people didn't care about what happened to transient patients, not really... and those who did often didn't have the talent to find Cornelia's secret laboratories.

But the doctor had the empathy and the talent both. Exceptional woman. Cornelia had rewarded the doctor's good virtues by killing her quickly, instead of... indulging herself.

( You didn't play with smart prey. Rule to live by.)

Bias would enjoy that story... and she'd like wearing the skin, she'd always favored blonde disguises. She'd be a good counter to Edelgard. She'd get to use her Titanus to keep the 'Flame Emperor'- and Fell fucking Star, why had Thales let the dumbass girl get away with using that name? Might as well paint a target on Edelgard's head with “kill me” on it- and her army in line. Tough as the primitives could be, against proper mechs few could stand- they mostly stood there looking stupid before the robots killed them.

And beyond the advantage to Cornelia personally... why, it might even do Bias some good to get out of Shambhala for a while. She'd been complaining about how she hadn't felt the spark of creation in a while, and Garreg Mach had a lot of blacksmiths doing some interesting metalwork, despite the primitive culture's relative roughness.

Maybe it would serve to inspire Cornelia's friend; Bias' only failing as a scientist was her tendency to fall into a rut without something to light her fires, a failing Cornelia didn't share due to her sadism. Cornelia just had to hurt someone to get her creative juices flowing, but Bias needed more complicated fuel for her mind's engine; fuel she might just find on a trip outside.

Yes, Cornelia thought with a warm feeling. Bias would get inspired again, _and_ help Cornelia out- perfect. The practical benefits of friendship.

The other one... the other one would be harder to get. A friend, too, and more; she couldn't lie, she liked him, little devil-may-care bastard. They'd dallied about with each other a time or two... maybe time to restart that relationship.

Shambhala below, it wasn't like Rufus was any fun. You'd think a man who womanized as much as he did would be a joy in bed, but Rufus cared about Rufus, and that was as far as it went. She'd known he was a bit useless even before she helped him kill his brother, but damnation, she'd never have started sleeping with him if she'd known he would be such a terrible lover. The man was built wonderfully, and if he'd put even the _slightest_ effort into it he'd be an accomplished lover, but that was apparently beyond him.

She should have known; Rufus was a traditionalist among traditionalists, had made up for his lack of a Crest with the nobility by being as reactionary as possible, and in Faerghus, that meant not really caring about women. It was something the Agarthans had planned out when they'd helped Loog; the Church worshiped a woman, after all, and they needed a weapon against it, so it was thought at the time that a bit of misogyny might go a long way.

Cornelia understood the reasoning, but thought it was flawed; still, it wouldn't matter. The Faerghi would die like everyone else, in time.

The thought pleased her, as it always did. She wasn't sure what she'd do when time came to kill Rufus- whether she'd stretch it out, because _fuck_ him, or if she'd do it quickly, just to be done with him. A decision for the future- but she could not _wait_ to shed herself of this stupid country, and its foolishness. A martyrdom culture gone mad... yes, she was looking forward to this trip to Garreg Mach. Fell Star's teeth, Faerghus was a shithole. If Thales had not needed his best servant in the Kingdom, Cornelia would have demanded a posting somewhere _far_ less absurd in its cultural rules.

Maybe Derdriu; she did like the coast, and run by bestials or not, the Alliance was closer to proper Agarthan society than the Kingdom was, if only by a hair.

She sighed, and put her nose back to the grindstone. _Back to business, Cornelia_ , she reminded herself. _Focus on the task at hand._

So... recruit her old lover. His name was Myson, no matter whose skin he was wearing; he'd never liked infiltration work, and so while he'd cheerfully put on bestial skin to fit in with the tribal populations, he'd never changed his name. Thales had ranted about it once or twice- it was quite a security risk- but Myson made it work, had made a habit of hiding in plain sight amongst the subracials.

Him and his warriors would be a good watchdog for Solon; he was a most practical fellow, and shared common sense with Cornelia, that ironically named, ever-so-rare resource. It had been what had attracted them to each other in the first place- that practical nature, so rare among Agarthans.

Still, she supposed some arrogance was only natural. The Agarthans were the last _real_ humans on the planet, not tainted by the Fell Star's works, rendered more animalistic by that alien's meddling in their blood; a certain pride was understandable...

But as Solon amply demonstrated, you could take anything too far.

Myson was a good counter to that tendency, he had a fair and accurate opinion of himself, and he would be useful to keep Solon from doing anything stupid.

Why, he'd even be valuable as a research assistant. He was a dab hand at biological work; he'd written some of the theory she'd used to carve the weapon and the protoype's second Crests into them.

( Oh, the _memories_. When Cornelia dreamed pleasant dreams, they mostly took place in the laboratories the Agarthans had built, one in Ordelia and one in Enbarr, those heady days when they had given her entire families to play with. The House of Ordelia and the Adrestian Emperor had been most kind, in having such an abundance of children; so much flesh to mold and break. Wonderful times.)

Yes... Myson would be a good right hand for her, but he wasn't going to involve himself easily _or_ cheaply. She'd have to entice him; he was chasing a Relic at the moment with his own personal squad of Agarthan troops, looking for something that had ended up in Brigid, of all places. To give that prize up, he'd have to have some pretty significant payment...

But what to use to get him up here? He was too practical to come just because she called; he was no slave to his lusts, and neither was she- ironically, one of the reasons she liked him well enough _to_ slake her desire with him, he was one of the few she'd ever met who was worth sleeping with. He'd make her pay a fair price for his services...

...Ooh. She had something. Two somethings- Project M, and the prospect of a Nabatean subject to test on. He'd been wanting to get a good look at Project M for years now. She could bring Project M along with her as a precaution against Edelgard- and she almost hoped the girl would rebel, Cornelia could not _wait_ to show her Project M if she did so, salivated at the thought of Edelgard's face when she realized just _who_ Project M had been, long ago- but it would also serve as bait for Myson. Between that and the hope of a draconic test subject... yes... that should be plenty.

Besides... she wanted to show off her work. Why not have some fun with it?

Yes... those two would be perfect. She'd send the messages tonight. Not through the bestial's channels, no... she'd use Agarthan science. Time was of the essence.

Idly, almost by accident, Cornelia ran her eyes over Thales' notes on the Blue Lions, slapdash as they were. No one important; just dead Lambert's son, the Duscur he'd saved, and a few nobles of the Kingdom. Nobodies...

...But an idea occurred to Cornelia, another method to counterbalance the weapon, should she prove too sharp an edge for Agartha to hold.

She read their files closely, and made a few notes. There were... possibilities here, people who might be swayed with words to her side.

Perhaps nothing would come of it.

But perhaps... she could mold them into weapons of her own. Not as well-made as Edelgard, of course... she'd be modifying a normal human, instead of being allowed to truly _craft_ a masterpiece... but if _all_ the Lions could be made weapons, well, quantity had a quality all its own.

Cornelia smiled.

-

Lysithea struggled awake at Garreg Mach, coming out of troubled sleep, blinking eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“ Lysithea!” Claude said, just a little too loud for her. “ Good to see you're up, sleeping beauty.”

_Of course he'd be here,_ Lysithea thought, head fuzzy... but even under her annoyance, she felt... glad, to know they were with her even as she slept.

Still, the warm feeling in her chest was small. The big thing she felt was... pain. She felt weak, sleepy... like she needed rest.

She also felt _starved._

“ How are you feeling?” Hilda asked.

“ Hungry,” she managed to mumble.

“ We'll get ya something,” Claude said.

She slept again after that, dozed off; when she awoke, there was a little cup of soup next to her, kept warm over a device she vaguely recognized as the same burner Lorenz used to heat up tea. A cookie sat next to it, but it wasn't one of Mercedes; this one was more angular, more precise. Mercedes liked hers a little bit globby, but this one had been made more carefully.

She reached for the cookie first- so sue her, she was aching and needed comfort- and she found it as good as Mercedes' own work, a rich and sweet thing, and to her hungry tongue it was magnificent.

“ Hey, you're up,” came a soft voice, and when she blinked her eyes open again, she saw Ignatz, friendly and retiring, smiling at her. “ Tell me if that's not enough, okay? They want you to eat slowly today, but I can get you a little more if you need it.”

She nodded, and reached for the soup, but it was just a little too far away. Before she could embarrass herself by asking for help, Ignatz put the cup in her hand.

( She did not realize she smiled at him as he did so.)

The soup was a tomato base, spiced with basil and a little bit of pepper; not her usual fare, but it warmed her as she downed it, and settled the emptiness in her stomach.

The door opened, and in walked Lorenz.

“ Ah, she's awake!” he said, quietly. At least both of them knew to moderate their voices, unlike Claude... which wasn't like him at all. Perhaps he'd just been too happy to see her awake to think of it. “ It is good to see you, Lysithea.”

She nodded, too tired to talk, and as she drifted off again, Ignatz took the empty cup from her hands and readjusted her pillows.

She dreamed of shrikes, those songbirds that impaled their prey on thorns to save for later, their dinners dying by inches.

-

Somewhere in Shambhala, Bias answered Cornelia's message.

“ Cornelia, darling!” Bias' bright voice buzzed over the hologram. “ It's been too long!”

“ Indeed,” Cornelia said, amused as always by her friend's pep. “ How would you feel if I asked you to come with me on a field trip?”

“ I _do_ feel as if I'm growing old down here,” Bias said. “ What did you have in mind?”

“ Meet me at Garreg Mach,” Cornelia began. “ And bring some of your toys with you.”

“ Ooh!” Bias squealed in delight, and behind her, Cornelia could hear the roar of a Titanus engine starting up. Wow, Bias must have been chomping at the bit to leave Shambhala. “ I shall, I shall! Do I need to bring my own outfit, or do you have a skin ready for me?”

“ I've got one,” Cornelia said, chuckling at her friend's eagerness.

-

Myson wanted to meet in person. Cornelia begged off from Rufus' attentions for a day- an easy thing, since Rufus had other women to fail to please in the meantime- and with judicious abuse of warp dust, teleported down through almost all of Faerghus, to the border with Adrestia. An absurdly expensive trip- Thales would yell at her for wasting resources- but time was more precious still. It was dumb luck Myson had been in the northern parts of Adrestia at the time- the relic was in Brigid, but he didn't know _where_ , and the records were apparently in some library in Adrestia's north.

The meeting place was a large warehouse; Cornelia, wearing the simple robes and hat of a traveling mage, walked the streets of the small town without anyone noticing. As she slipped into the plain stone building, torches on the walls revealed a bare, open room with no furnishings, inside which stood a small group of armed folk, alongside a number of shivering human forms behind them.

“ Cornelia, you look lovely in that skin,” Myson said. He was, himself, wearing the skin of an Allied sailor who had the bad misfortune of being present when Myson needed a new outfit, and the roguish sailor's flesh suited Myson; a bright gold earring in one ear flashed in the torchlight as he gave her a cocky grin. “ Of course, I prefer your real looks- but that's not bad.”

“ Enough, you old flirt,” Cornelia said, but without rancor. Smiling, she said, “ I have a business proposition for you.”

“ Let me guess- Thales is bringing you to Garreg Mach to fix the fiasco there?” Myson said. “ All Agartha's talking about it.”

She nodded. Leave it to Myson to know her needs before she even asked. “ Of course. I'm the only loyal servant he has who won't make a mess of it.”

“ And you'll need help, because Solon is there too,” Myson mused, putting a finger to his chin. “ Yes, that's a bit of a job for one person, even one as talented as you.”

Cornelia chuckled. “ Of course, I wouldn't presume to simply ask for your assistance without paying for it.”

“ Another thing I love about you,” Myson said. “ You know how this works. So. What payment are you offering, and how long will this job last?”

“ I'm going to pay you for a year's work,” Cornelia said. “ I doubt it will take that long, but I want to hedge my bets. Worse comes to worse, you'll owe me a favor.”

“ Fair,” he said.

“ As for payment- it's three-fold. I'll let you examine Project M and give you copies of my notes on it, first and foremost.”

Myson's eyes widened at that. “ Oh,” he said. “ Well... that's... quite a payment.”

“ Beyond that, there is the chance we'll get a Nabatean test subject,” she said. “ Not a certainty, but if we do, you'll have first crack at it.”

“ Well! An embarrassment of riches, as they say,” Myson answered. “ If you'll pay for our room and board, that'll just about do it.”

“ Of course,” Cornelia said. “ I've already budgeted for that. Though you seem to have more people in your group than I recall...”

She nodded to the huddled figures, shivering behind Myson's Agarthans, all disguised as mercenaries.

“ Oh, those aren't part of us,” Myson said, chuckling. “ Hey, bring one up here, somebody- I want to show off to Cornelia.”

He turned to her with a big grin on his stolen face. “ My latest experiment- it proved successful in a test run on the way up here, I found a small village in Adrestia and sent them in.”

As he spoke, one of his troopers grabbed up a downcast, shivering bestial, and dragged the squawking thing forward, the soldier's amusement clear on her face as she presented the half-naked subracial to Cornelia.

Cornelia observed the thing for a moment- a male specimen, of rugged and rough looks, but with a body built more for hard labor than combat. Some rough and tumble miner, she guessed, or perhaps a dockworker. What had once been a proud and defiant face was now fearful and scared, and he flinched at her gaze.

A smile slowly spread on her face. “ What did you do to them, sweet Myson?”

He chuckled, his surprisingly deep voice so very pleasant to her ears. He was amused, too, for this was the _second_ thing that united them- glorious sadism. “ Oh, a mixture of spells. Using healing light, I've arrested their transformation in the second just beforehand; they are trying to transform into demonic beasts, but I've halted it with healing. The fun part is what this dual-nature does to their minds; like demonic beasts, they can be commanded... but they are still humanoid in shape.”

“ You've managed mind control in a humanoid subject,” Cornelia breathed out. “ Oh, Myson, that's... _wonderful._ ”

She ran a gentle hand over the once-tough man, and he burst into tears of purest fear from that light touch.

“ It gets better. They're fully aware of what's happening to them, but they can't stop themselves,” Myson said, barely restraining himself from laughing. “ Mind controlled troops, who, when badly injured, burst into Demonic Beasts, full-grown- like little presents for the enemy to open.”

He couldn't stop himself at that, he laughed, and Cornelia joined him, the high and sweet soprano to his low bass, and the huddled subracials twitched, whimpering at the sound.

When Cornelia was done, she touched the one before her again, his eyes full of the terrified stare of a rabbit before the hawk.

“ How do you feel, sweetie?” Cornelia said, running a finger down the man's chin.

“ My bones- they ache- my skin is hot- I _hurt_...”

Thrills of joy went racing through Cornelia's heart, and with an effort, she removed her hand from the bestial. Later, she would dig into their flesh _later_... for now... she would just... enjoy this.

“ Oh, _Myson_ ,” she said, shooting him a smoldering glance. “ What sweet presents. You shouldn't have.”

She turned fully away from the _magnificent_ thing he had made, and put her hand to his shoulder, gently.

“ Let's discuss this in private.”

He smiled and took her hand in his own.

“ Wonderful!” he said. “ Here's to the renewal of a _lovely_ relationship.”

-

After they were done with their most enthusiastic discussion- and had gotten their clothes back on- they went north, once more burning through a good year's supply of warp dust. Not a waste- speed, again, was the most important factor now- but definitely an expense.

But back in Faerghus, Cornelia took Myson down, down into the depths of her secret laboratory, hidden beneath Fhirdiad's school of sorcery. Down those long, dark steps, down to a place where Agarthan lightning lit the walls, and the smell of old blood never left. Down, past the rooms of autopsies and jars full of preserved specimens, to a room most secure.

“ Here she is,” Cornelia said, opening the door. Myson stepped in first, and she followed, closing the door as they both looked at the thing in the round tank before them. The room was dominated by it, bare except for a few machines that kept the tank and its inhabitant stable; the only light came from the glowing fluid the beast was submerged in, a formula of Cornelia's own design, half light magic, half anesthetic. Breathable, but it drugged the subject who breathed it in- exactly as planned.

“ Interesting,” he said, just observing her visually at first. Later, he'd look at her notes... but right now, he just took it all in.

After a moment, he said, “ I'm surprised by her hair. You figured out how to deal with the bleaching?”

“ Yes,” Cornelia said. “ I'm particularly proud of that- Project M would lose much of its potency if it lost its human resemblance.”

“ I can see that,” Myson said, and smiled at the overgrown, twisted monstrosity that, once upon a time, had been a woman, which currently slept curled up around itself, long auburn hair like a shroud over its twisted form.

-

It took her a week, but finally, she was able to leave, claiming she had a vision that demanded she go to Garreg Mach; and no one in the Kingdom would question a holy woman's dreams.

While she had to travel at the usual speed of the subracials, they made good time. She took only her experiment and most vital equipment- hidden in wagons- and Myson's troops, who had killed and skinned some Faerghus townsfolk for disguises during the week they had. Myson himself was now wearing a Faerghi commoner whose uncommonly strong chin and good-looking countenance were _perfect_ for their needs. The disguises weren't perfect- not enough time to prepare- but they'd have time to do touch-up once they got settled in at Garreg Mach.

Thus did Cornelia arrive at Garreg Mach with few realizing the true implications.

Oh, her arrival was no secret thing; everyone knew about it. Indeed, even the announcement of her coming was accompanied by storied pomp. She was a holy woman and a Court Mage, after all, and of Faerghus, holiest of the three nations of Fodlan; Rhea's public statement was that she was delighted to have her, though in private the Archbishop thought the timing was rather gauche.

(She and Byleth shared a laugh over that during one of their teas; Rhea, knowing nothing of the truth, told Byleth that she thought Cornelia was coming simply so she could pretend to be involved with the recent events, the noble equivalent of disaster tourism, and suspected nothing of the truth.)

She was received with great formality, including both a feast of Faerghus' finest foods and a parade of Garreg Mach's best knights and holy folk and servants. Cornelia herself had humbly declined both, though Rhea had insisted; and she sat at Rhea's side and ate along with her at the feast, held in the Great Hall due to the destruction of the former dining area.

Cornelia's unusual humility continued, and seemed honest; she insisted on her own small pool of servants taking care of her work, and treated everyone she met with great deference. Only Cyril sensed anything wrong, the boy subjected to cruelties so often for his race that he had developed a fine-tuned sense of danger, and it went off with a scream in his ears every time he was around Cornelia... but he kept his suspicions to himself. No one ever listened to the Almyran boy, and he had no proof to base his accusations on... just a warning chill down his spine whenever he looked in her eyes, something intense and evil he found in the deepest pits of her pupils.

The Blue Lions were honored to receive her, of course, though none of them knew her. Dimitri, estranged from the current King and his Court for many reasons, wasn't sure what to think; Sylvain only knew that he liked what he saw, that crawling thing inside that was overriding his better nature more and more often, that little voice in his head that told him his pleasure was what mattered, and nothing else.

( It would shock both of them to know this, but between them, _Sylvain_ was far more cynical than Felix; Felix's rage was born of idealism betrayed with his brother's death, ideals he had once loved, but Sylvain was beginning to throw away even the memory of such things.)

The others were curious, and wondered what she would be like... and only Linhardt, the wisest student at Garreg Mach, had any inkling of what she was really like, looking at Cornelia as she waved at the crowd and feeling a sense that he was being... tricked.

He was wise indeed to feel that way; for Cornelia, who should have had all these honors, was dead in the ground for long years at this point. The dedicated woman who had saved Faerghus from a plague, and in doing so won the love of a king, had not lived to see her heroine's reward; another had taken her place. Cornelia's skin had been stripped from her with a chemical concoction Agartha had mastered, peeling her like paint; the kind healer's face had been torn from her, in a process the Agarthans had performed many times throughout Fodlan's history.

( It is perhaps a telling testament to talk of this truth: when Thales, himself a monster, tore Volkhard von Arundel's skin from him, he did it as fast as Agarthan science could manage. Arundel died in horrible pain, but Thales had not made him linger. The woman who now called herself Cornelia- because it amused her to steal even the _name_ of her victims- had managed to keep the original Cornelia, skinless, alive for three months of indescribable pain, all for fun, until a horrified Agarthan found something like courage and justice both inside herself, and dared to grant that kind healer mercy in secret. Even other Agarthans sometimes found they could not stomach Cornelia.)

But almost no one knew. The true meaning of Cornelia's arrival passed without notice by most; she was too clever, too good at projecting the mirage that hid her true self. Only a few saw the warning signs around them- Cyril and Linhardt, for starters, but others had more... esoteric understandings, and sadly, almost all of them were misunderstood by those who saw them.

Three had nightmares, three women at Garreg Mach who, though they did not know it, had history with Cornelia already; Lysithea tossed and turned in her bed, Edelgard's nightmares intensified, and Hapi in the Abyss wept quiet tears in her sleep, each suffering visions of the past, of a shrike-skull mask and the gentle touch of a bloody hand to their foreheads, the amusement of their violator.

But Edelgard forgot her dreams thanks to Dorothea's sweet gift, and attributed them to the horrible days after Jeritza's wounding- and Lysithea was distracted by her own awakening. Only Hapi remembered, Yuri having awoken from his always-light slumber upon hearing her weep, and when he offered to hear her troubles, she turned him down. Hapi was the strong one of the Wolves, after all, all cynicism and snark; she didn't want anyone to know, and Yuri, his own past a troubled thing, did his friend a kindness, and did not press.

But Byleth... Byleth dreamed strange dreams.

-

She was swimming.

She took a moment to look around herself, at these waters. They were full of clocks, all slowly marking down the seconds of the present day; all kinds of clocks, of Fodlan make, of foreign make, of places so distant that the word _foreign_ did not cover them. A different word, _alien_ , floated past her, a thought from Sothis inside herself, and Byleth wondered at the ideas it carried, of distant worlds, and the peoples who lived there.

A few of the clocks, mostly the _alien_ ones, showed the date in Fodlan's calendar; it was today's date, she knew, this was not the future or the past but the third and most important side of time's triangle- it was the present.

She swam, and realized she was not herself. She looked down at her new body, at her long toothy snout, and realized she was a crocodile, one of the lizard-lions of the swamps and southern rivers; and in the dream, it felt right, it felt almost... _fun_! The emotionless woman felt a burble of joy in her heart, and she looked herself over as much as she could, turning and twisting in this strange river to get a good glimpse of herself. A young mother crocodile was she, all the parts of her at once- something primeval, that had not changed its shape in billions of years, but something new, too, just beginning its life, Sothis and Byleth altogether.

She swam, and realizing she wanted to breathe, she kicked up, towards the river's top, surfacing silently in the manner of her new species, only eyes and nose just barely visible, and she took in the new sights.

The river's banks were brown here, supporting verdant grass and trees whose leaves shined with gold. A Herd was prancing on those shores, and a most marvelous Herd indeed! In the lead a great Stag, dancing and laughing, his golden antlers not full grown yet- but they would form a pair of crowns, she knew, not one crown but two.

( _Two?_ She had time to think, before the dream moved her along.)

Beside the fun-loving, wise Stag, a great tortoise walked, with the slow and steady gait that many confused for laziness. Her shell, which was shaped like a great shield, was beautiful, bright pink and decorated with images in the shape of jewelry and decorations, and it marched along, long gait keeping up with her king. Besides the tortoise was the hare- of course, Byleth thought with a bubbly snort, she remembered her father telling her that story in the long-ago days of her childhood- a blue hare, who seemed nervous and timid, and clung to the tortoise's side for safety... but the hare's shadow was strange, it took the shape of a Beast, and where the hare's feet touched, ice was left in small patches of spikes.

Behind them came a great bear, huge even for his vast species, paws stained sticky with honey, fur the yellow color of blonde hair and healthy saffron. Upon his mighty back he carried others, without any trouble whatsoever, his strength a foundation to build upon.

In the front was a little kitten, jet-black as night, riding on the bear's neck, occasionally smacking him when he paused to eat something or otherwise got distracted, an imperious little beast the bear tolerated in good humor. A little green spider next to her wove webs that displayed magnificent pictures, stretched tight between hairs on the bear's back; from time to time, the spider and the cat would nuzzle each other, though something was yet missing between them, there was a third shadow between them they had yet to meet that would bring them together at last.

Behind them was a pair of dogs, one a big orange mutt of no determinate breed save “dog”, the other a fancy, almost prissy little thing, a purple noble's dog whose hair had, inexplicably, been trimmed into the shape of a bowl cut. The orange mutt beside him had a barrel of ale slung under her neck, and a halter attached that carried all manner of useful things; the absurd little dog next to her, meanwhile, had bags of tea clipped to his collar.

Yet, for all his absurdity, the little dog held his head high, and he kept watch as well as the big mutt, the duo standing guard for all the Herd... in between glances at each other.

Behind them was the last of the bear's riders, a great black eagle, one with a shock of red feathers on his head. He marched back and forth along the bear's back in the ridiculous, head-bopping strut of his kind, somehow regal and silly, all at once... but the shadow that bird cast was _huge_ , it dwarfed all others, and even as Byleth looked, she saw the red feathers turn sea-green. The shadow behind that eagle was old, almost as old as Byleth's form, a thing on two legs with small arms and huge jaws, a prelude to birds as a whole, some prehistoric thing that had once walked as a tyrant among reptilian giants...

( But that was yet to come; this was the present, not the future, though the things to come cast their shadows into the past.)

Behind the bear and the great parade on its back came the last of the Herd, a mountain lioness, who walked with a quiet and burdened dignity; and in her shadow was a reaper, one missing an arm, and she sadly contemplated him as she made up the rear of the Herd.

Byleth _knew_ these people... but vaguely, had no names for them, in that way we know things in dreams. No, she felt only this one clear thing, the only thing she knew was _this_ \- she loved them, she loved them all. She knew they were teaching her something, she knew that she had not known some vital thing that they were, nonetheless, making her familiar with. Something of dandelions and whistles, something of... of being a person, that she had never had before. She was meant to teach them something, she thought, but she couldn't remember what that was at the moment; no, she felt _they_ were the teachers, and she an eager student, learning... everything.

Even as she swam alongside the Herd, unconsciously following that great Stag who, one day, would be a great king, she saw with her eye the things following them that were, as yet, not clear- more shadows of the future, cast into the past. They were most strange, almost elemental figments she could barely see: an icy thing in the shape of a great and noble unicorn, one of the last of his kind; a thing made of ashes in the shape of a songbird, which cast the shadow of a great wolf; a thing of light she could barely see, a twinkling in the air in the shape of a fluffy beast.

But that was tomorrow, and she did not know them, not today... though she felt she would come to love them, in time. They would join the Herd, she felt, if things continued as they were... though given their nature, who could say? Chaos was the road of the free, after all; perhaps these coins would not land on their edges, perhaps they would choose other roads.

But perhaps not... and she would greet them warmly, if they came into her Herd.

But even as she smiled at them- a terrifying thing, given all her teeth- she saw someone up ahead of them. An old warhorse, clumping along the road before the Herd, viewing the world through clear eyes. She _knew_ him, too, she loved him, almost-memories dancing in her head as she picked up speed to catch up with him.

( Holding her as an infant, teaching her how to fight, gruff and loving- _father_ )

But just as she caught up with him, something terrible happened.

The golden trees were stripped of their leaves by the wingbeats of a huge bird, a shrike dozens of feet tall; she descended from the sky and picked up the old warhorse, plucked him like fruit from the road with a single stab of her beak. The warhorse screamed and kicked in her beak to no avail, and she lifted off with him, flying away.

_No!_

Byleth chased, chased as hard as her new body could go, the river following the bird, her tail thrashing as she swam and swam, even as the river began to turn red and churn into rapids. She dove, dodging the rocks, and saw that the clocks were spinning forwards now; not the present anymore, but the near future, the thing called _soon_ , the shadow of things to come quickly.

Fast, fast, she went, the horse's screaming filling her with fear and adrenaline both, until finally she came to the place the river stopped, spilling into a lake of blood, in which floated chunks of dismembered corpses. An island in the middle of that lake bore a leafless, many branched tree that rose high, rose until its topmost tip touched the sun, and she knew in the oracle-way of dreaming that it had roots that slithered into the darkness beneath her until they touched the molten core of the planet itself.

On those leafless branches, raising up, were impaled the corpses of hundreds.

Byleth's mind refused to comprehend what she was seeing, she could not see the whole of things, she could only perceive pieces of it without falling apart into despair and sheer mind-numbing horror. A girl in Adrestian colors, who shifted between forms werewolf-like, between a schoolgirl and a faceless Emperor. A motherly figure, who was pierced in so many places that her figure had distroted into a monster. An entire pride of blue lions, alongside two black eagles. A woman in healer's clothes, her body stripped skinless.

The shrike carried the horse to an empty branch, and with a single hard jerk of her head, impaled him on the branch.

_No!_ Byleth roared, and wept, and she swam past all the fleshy remnants in the lake to the shore so swiftly that she clambered up onto the island's shore with all four feet even as the horse's last scream died with him. Two guardians emerged from the island- one a great gorilla, like she had heard rumor state existed in distant lands, a shaggy mockery of the primate form that was bedecked in dozens of human skins, the other a great swarm, emerging from a beehive hanging in the tree, the bees collecting corpseblood and not pollen. As Byleth emerged and let out the hissing growl of warning, the shrike descended to her level, and with the bird out of the way, Byleth saw clearly the last thing impaled on the tree, at its verymost top.

A great dragon, pierced on that final spike, the way she had been for long centuries... and there was so much blood on her hands, her hands were wrist-deep with the gore of the innocent, but... her eyes wept. Blood on her hands, so much blood, but pain in her heart, so much _pain_...

The songbird noticed Byleth noticing her, and chirped a cheery tune of greeting. Her talons were bloody too, as thick with the gore of the innocent as the great dragon's... but there was no pain in the bird's eyes, no, she _smiled_ , she laughed with delight, she sang songs of joy as she reveled in carnage.

Byleth's emotionless heart felt something, a flicker of something red, the thing that had awoken inside her when she saw one of her beloved Herd dead- _rage_.

Byleth roared her challenge, and the raptor mocked her, warbling a parody of her challenge back at her before giggling. She spread her wings, and her servants readied themselves as she lifted off; the gorilla beat his chest, howling for blood, and the bee's nest buzzed as the swarm filled the air.

Byleth's divine body coiled, a loaded spring ready to fire, as the abomination in the shape of a bird flew up, up, into the sunlight, and for a moment, all was still- until, finally, the thing began her assault.

The shrike dove, and Byleth lunged.

( She awoke covered in sweat, and did not know who won that contest- but the image of a mother crocodile, spiked on that tree beside all the other corpses, would not leave her nightmares for the next few days.)


	12. Paralogue: The Lovers, Upright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Edelgard, sitting beneath a tree...

Paralogue

The Lovers, Upright

In the week before Cornelia's arrival- in those last days when the white clouds were not yet pregnant with future storms- and, crucially, three days before the second letter Ferdinand's retainer had sent reached the monastery- Edelgard left her room to go for a walk.

Hubert knew, of course. Operational security at its most basic; keep your eye on the prize. She had warp dust keyed to her hidden camp on her person, both in a bag and hidden in a necklace she'd put on that had a false pendant. In addition, she brought hatchets, and a survival pack on her back that held an elixir, some vulnerary-soaked bandages, alongside enough water and rations for a week.

Carrying all of that, even as tightly packed as it was, would be burdensome for many... but Edelgard's supernaturally enhanced constitution and strength gave her might enough to pack them all, even if the same things were killing her.

Hubert had described it once- when he'd studied it- as making Edelgard too _much_ , there was too much _muchness_ inside her now, the human body wasn't designed to handle it. Perhaps the body of another creature could... but not the one she had. 

He had apologized for not being able to tell her more than that; for her, Hubert had tried to be omniskilled, perfect, but even Hubert had to admit that he was just one man.

Still, he had tried, and she would always be grateful to him. In the days following their return from Faerghus- a place Edelgard barely remembered, save that her hand twitched for the dagger on her belt when she thought of it- it had been Hubert, and his relentless lobbying for her, that had first begun to drag her out of her shell. Thales had approved, to her surprise, had allowed Hubert to accompany her, but only because it freed Thales up to go do other things... and how that would cost him, in time.

( Her hands ached for her axe. Oh, to kill Thales, to splatter him on the floor, to reduce him to red ruin. Edelgard has few pleasant dreams... but from time to time, she dreams of killing Thales, and Dorothea's sweet gift is unneeded on those nights.)

But today... today Edelgard just... wanted to clear her head. Go out, observe nature. She'd always liked that; something about the natural world was... soothing, to her. Perhaps just seeing all that open space, after the small cells, maybe that was all it was. She'd never felt entirely comfortable in buildings, not since her innocence was taken. It would do her good to be outdoors for a while.

Hubert had offered to accompany her, but she was not in the mood for accompaniment; Hubert, be all his virtues remembered, was not one for long walks in nature, and despite his long stride being more than a match for her short legs, he did not have the physical stamina she did. Hubert, in another world- a better world- would have been a scholar, physical effort a foreign concept; but here, he had to do everything, even things he was unsuited for.

( Edelgard did not wonder what she would be like in a better world. Thinking of a world where her siblings lived, and she was not subject to Thales' attentions... no, no, down that path laid madness. Sorrow could not shatter her, but she feared imagined happiness might.)

Besides, she would be safe. The only monsters lurking in the woods around Garreg Mach were of her own making, and owed her their allegiance. The Knights of Seiros regularly patrolled in the area- she should know, she'd studied their routes extensively to figure out where to hide her army- and it kept most of the bandits and brigands out. The area was also not known for a high monster concentration, unlike Zanado or some of the coastal areas, where fragments of magical stones could be swallowed up by any stupid animal.

A peaceful forest, perfect for walking in, perfect for clearing her mind. There were images swimming in her head like hungry sharks, endless, always circling: the Flame Emperor's mask staring at her, Jeritza's arm falling in a spray of blood, Edelgard the Schoolgirl dying at the hands of Rhea or Thales or- worst of all- Edelgard the Flame Emperor, they didn't _stop_...

So she would go out into nature, and simply... be, for a little while. Nature had always brought her some measure of peace.

( It did not occur to her to seek out comfort from others; she had been alone all her days, with only Hubert for a companion, and be all his virtues remembered, Hubert was simply not a man who had much comfort in him.)

It wasn't like she could _do_ anything. Jeritza still slept, and the monastery's guard was watching far too closely for her to risk doing... anything. She couldn't save him, or even grant him the mercy of death- she doubted Rhea would kill him swiftly.

( Jeritza, her first recruit save Hubert himself, whose split skull she had tried to heal. Jeritza, who would die her loyal servant... this thought was a shark indeed, it bit down on her heart, tore at her insides with its teeth. Jeritza, faithful to her, now destined to die...)

Even going to her troops was risky. Taking an excursion into the forest around Garreg Mach was a simple thing; but warping off to her troops carried too many risks of being caught. Someone might hear her as she returned, she might warp back in when someone could see her... anything. Paranoia was her only defense, and it warned her against making any attempts to contact her troops.

She could explain a walk; she could not explain the warp dust, so expensive even Adrestia's budget felt the purchase. She'd had to disguise it as multiple smaller expenses in the budget, and had been grateful for her talent at math. It wasn't something a person just _had,_ even royalty. If she was caught with it, it would raise questions, questions that ended with Edelgard's neck on a chopping block...

If she was lucky. Out of a sort of morbid curiosity, she had once looked up some of Rhea's favored executions, and discovered to her consternation that Rhea had a terribly... _inventive_ streak. The schism with the southern Church had happened for many reasons, but one of them had been over the frankly grotesque punishment Rhea had inflicted on a cardinal caught trying to create a Sacred Weapon with some Crests he'd found in the Church. He'd died... eventually.

The enucleations were a bit much, in Edelgard's opinion.

With all her things packed, Edelgard grabbed her solid, stout stick, an iron-banded chunk of good Adrestian Gray Oak that she'd bought some years ago, a good hiking stick and quarterstaff all in one. Hubert had insisted she carry such a weapon with her while out and about, and she'd agreed. You never knew when you needed to give something a good whack, and a walking stick was just common sense.

Out her door she set, under a fine Horsebow Moon sun, winter just a dream of late night at this point. On a far-off bench were Caspar and Linhardt, in conversation- she wasn't sure over what, couldn't hear them at this distance- and coming down the sauna steps she saw Hilda and her girlfriend, both looking freshly cleansed. Sylvain, nearby, was silently watching them, paying no attention to his open textbook; Ingrid was training with Ashe on the grounds, the boy no swift hand with lances but learning quickly under the pegasus rider's tutelage.

Edelgard offered friendly waves to those who noticed her, but her short legs pumped to carry her away from everyone; she didn't want to talk to anyone, she wanted to be alone for a while. Down the steps, past the greenhouse, through whose open door she saw the giant form of Dedue, gentle with the plants he was pruning, alongside Byleth, Claude's teacher, who appeared to be working with flowers. Leonie was fishing, a basket beside her indicating she'd managed to catch a few already, the fat head of a large loach sticking out. Ignatz was beside her, sketching; Edelgard, who liked to paint, idly craned her neck to see what the Leceisterman was drawing, and caught only a glimpse of a crown of antlers, and beneath them, the outline of a face that made her think of Ferdinand, for some reason.

( Ferdinand. The stupid bastard who'd started all this, somehow managing to be an annoyance to her even after he left the Eagles. If only he had not stopped Jeritza... but then some part of Edelgard whispered with Petra's voice, _what would Thales have done with Flayn?..._ and she reminded herself, and the sick twisting in her guts, that Flayn was a dragon, an animal, not a person. Not a person, no matter how much she might act like one.)

She walked past the pond, returning the wave of the gatekeeper whose sheer cheeriness made him the delight of all Garreg Mach, then down the steps and past the rows of merchants hawking their goods at the monastery's market. A red-haired woman, with finger to chin, was the only one who didn't try to grab her attention, merely nodding to her with a strange, knowing smile.

Edelgard returned the nod, with a bit of a strange feeling. Anna had been one of the merchants she'd purchased goods through for her Army of the Flame Emperor... and she'd had the damndest sense she'd _known_ what the goods were for. She'd asked Hubert to investigate the strange shopkeeper, but he'd come back completely empty-handed as to where she got her goods from or even where she was from... Which meant Anna had the backing of _somebody_ important, maybe even a foreign power like Dagda. She wondered why...

...Best not to think of it. Edelgard had so much on her plate that she just had to let some stuff go.

Out the gate, and down a nearby trail that led off into the woods- well, that _eventually_ lead to the woods, Rhea kept the area around the monastery clear of trees so she could see attacks incoming. When Edelgard assaulted the place, she was going to lose a lot of people in these open fields...

She shook her head. At least the deaths of her own soldiers did not weigh on her so much; they bothered her, of course, they were _her_ people, but they were all volunteers, not innocents she was dragging to their deaths. They came heads held high and eyes open... it eased her guilt, a little, knowing that. Volunteers who had come to her in a hundred hopes- atheists like herself who hoped for a land they could be free in, inventors and scholars hoping to be free of Church chains, those hurt by the Crest system, and even simple Adrestian commoners who wanted to serve the rightful Emperor. Her faithful ones, whose deaths would not be in vain.

_I'll make it worthwhile_ , she promised them in her head, as she walked the two miles of dirt road that led to the forest. _No more nobles, no more Crests, no more Agarthans, no more Church. No more will your oppressors reign; Fodlan will be free._

On that happy thought, her feet carried her swiftly; already her mood was beginning to lighten. On the forest's edge, she passed the lumberjack camps that were scouring the woods for firewood; winter was coming, after all. It was early yet, but one could never be too prepared. These camps, the closest to Garreg Mach, mostly didn't cut trees down themselves, but received wood cut from deeper in the forest, from areas where the Church had planted trees years before for this very purpose. Be all the Church's sins remembered- and Edelgard remembered them all- she did admire their environmental conservation efforts. It spoke of forward planning, something Edelgard had to admit she had trouble with.

( It was hard to plan ahead when you would never see thirty-one.)

They'd keep it after the Church was broken. She'd set up an Imperial agency for it; it was just good common sense. Trees grew slowly and people burned wood quickly; there had to be something to offset it.

The Church workers gave her a glance, but no more than that; between her walking stick and pack, it was clear she was out here for her own purposes, even for those who did not recognize her long white hair and figure out who she was. She thought she saw Cyril, working, but when she looked again she couldn't see the small Almyran's form. She'd paid more attention to him since her... feelings for Claude had grown, wondering what Almyrans were like generally, but Cyril was a self-contained sort who did not often speak to others, so she had learned nothing of the eastern land from him.

Still, further and further she went, the dirt trail shrinking as it shifted from a proper, if humble, road to a lesser trail. Roots curled in the path, ready to trip passers-by, and a few stray branches had overgrown the path, to claw at the faces of hikers. Edelgard dodged them all with ease, and simply took in the world around her- birds singing, bugs moving, the weight and presence of ancient trees and _life_.

For a time, she didn't think anything at all. She walked, and was simply part of the world for a time, crossing streams by leaping over them with her supernaturally strong legs, feeling the rough bark of the great trees with a hand carefully removed from its glove (and swiftly returned to it, once her curiosity was sated), at one point simply watching as a great long snake slithered across the path, the fractal designs of diamonds on its back and the thick rattle on its tail bespeaking venom in its mouth... venom it did not use, merely crossing her path politely, as mannered as you please.

After what felt like half an hour- maybe more- Edelgard, feeling refreshed and renewed, paused for a drink, looking ahead. Stronger sunlight meant a clearing up ahead; one of the areas the Church had clear-cut in recent years, then, a place where there were no tall trees to block out the light. Drink finished, she walked forward, curious if she'd see saplings growing her; did the Church replant immediately, or let the ground lay fallow for a time?

She found saplings, indeed- but to her surprise, she also found a Deer.

Claude lay on the ground, in comfortable traveler's clothes, asleep and dead to the world. His hands were folded behind his head, and his pack lay next to him; he slept near the clearing's front, underneath a tree that provided plenty of shade, right next to the dirt trail she was walking.

She cocked her head, looking at him laying there, and a smile found its way to her face as she observed Claude von Riegan, heir to the Grand Duke of the Alliance, just... napping on the ground. Why...? Perhaps he liked nature, too.

( The thought that he might share an interest with her was like a warm burst in her heart, the idea that they had a connection past his saving of her and endless games of chess; she wanted to share so much with him, so much.)

...He looked rather cute, laying there, open and honest.

Something must have warned him of her presence, for he finally cracked open one eye, the green-grass orb focusing on her.

“ You know, if you want to nap as well, there's plenty of space here.”

Her smile turned into a smirk, and she found that she didn't dislike his presence; being in the woods had helped, like she'd hoped it would, and she didn't mind company if the company was Claude.

“ I'm not particularly sleepy,” Edelgard said. “ I apologize for interrupting your nap, however.”

“ Eh, I was almost done,” Claude said, rising up to a sitting position. With a smooth motion, he sheathed the dagger he'd apparently kept behind his head in his belt. Edelgard approved of the caution. “ Just out here enjoying nature. What about you?”

“ The same,” Edelgard admitted. “ I find the wilderness comforting.”

“ Me too,” Claude said, indicating the meadow with one hand. “ Saw this spot and was like- yeah, this is a good place for a nap. It's lovely, isn't it?”

Edelgard looked at the meadow, full of small saplings that, in time, would grow to be great trees, surrounded by daisies and borage and a single brilliantly red camellia, wild and proud, a crimson flower softly swaying as a gentle breeze blew through the meadow. The grasses mimicked the airflow with their movements, a verdant wind in which bees flew, gathering the last of summer's bounty so that their hives would live through the winter to come. Butterflies flickered about, in a spray of colors that could not be mimicked by the world's finest trader in dyes.

“ It is,” Edelgard said. Claude patted the ground next to him.

“ Want to take a break for a while?” he asked, smiling at her.

His smile was as stunning as a hammer; it took her a second to say, “ Yes.” 

She sat down next to him, the trip to the ground a short one for the tiny woman. She was suddenly and overwhelmingly aware of his presence next to her, and was grateful he wasn't speaking; sitting next to him now, somehow, it felt terribly intimate, and she realized with something that was half excitement and half panic that this was the first time her and Claude had ever been truly alone together. It was just them out here, the only audience a group of bees; just them and nature.

She hoped she wasn't blushing, or, at the very least, it was a restrained one, and that she wasn't making a fool of herself. A glance she sneaked at Claude showed him casual, seemingly unaware of their situation, to Edelgard's annoyance.

( She was entirely incorrect; inside, Claude was feeling the exact same rush of excitement and panic, having come to the exact same conclusions. He snuck his own glance at her, and her face was schooled into passivity, to his annoyance. To each other's unknown dismay, they were both good at hiding their emotions.)

They just stayed like that for a while, sitting and watching the field, extraordinarily aware of each other's presence nearby, and of their seclusion. Edelgard half-enjoyed it and half-hated it; just sitting there, both so quiet that, in time, a rabbit nearly came up to them, a rabbit who almost died of a heart attack when Claude shifted his weight. The rabbit fell three times trying to get away, finally scampering off into the meadow's taller grasses to hide.

As it bounded out of sight, Edelgard finally found her tongue. “ We would make good hunters, it seems; it didn't see us until you moved.”

“ Well... I suppose we would,” Claude said. “ We'd have to move quick to catch a little guy like that, though. Not much meat on them either, and honestly I find it a bit dry; I prefer venison.”

A joke occurred to Edelgard, and that was rare enough that she gave voice to it. “ Eating deer meat? Is that cannibalism?”

Claude laughed, and Edelgard heard the littlest tinge of  _nervousness_ in it, along with the slightest elongation of his words when he spoke next. “ Cannibalism... that's coming up a lot these days.”

“...Really?” Edelgard said, turning her head to him. He put a hand behind his head, awkwardly.

“ It's... it's this joke, you see...,” he said, tongue still teasing that foreignness. “ I... it's not that funny, just something stupid I said once that kind of caught on with the other Deer. Forget I said anything.”

“ I wouldn't mind hearing it,” Edelgard said, another smile unconsciously spreading on her face. Claude looked... cute, worried and nervous like that, and it perversely made her  _less_ nervous, to see him having the same kind of worries she did.

“ Maybe- maybe some other time,” Claude said, and Edelgard dropped the subject; she had never been given much to teasing. 

“ Is that why you prefer a bow? Hunting?” Edelgard asked instead.

“ A little?” Claude said. “ Partly I'm just a good shot, so it's natural, but... well, a bow's practical. Also traditional for Leceister, which, if I'm being honest, is the real reason I studied it.”

Edelgard nodded. “ Like spears for Faerghus.”

Claude nodded. “ It reassures my countrymen to see me with our national weapon in hand. I  _am_ supposed to be the Alliance leader, after all.”

Edelgard could guess why, looking at his dark skin; the word  _Almyran_ might as well have been written on him.

“ It's a shame they cannot see past your skin,” Edelgard said softly, shaking her head. Claude's eyes widened. “ What weapon would you wield, if you had a choice?”

Claude looked in her eyes, looked for something- rejection, perhaps, or disdain, or any of a thousand things he must have dealt with for his race. Yet another Church foolishness, and Edelgard, the atheist par excellence, looked back without fear. She did not hate Claude, nor see him as less.

He must have seen that in her eyes, so after a moment, his eyes lowered, and he smiled again- but it was real, this time, she saw it reach his eyes. “ Axes, like you, I suppose,” he said. “ But that may just be the... Almyran in me.”

He almost didn't say it, she could hear it in his voice; he had nearly stuttered on the word detailing his heritage, and to her surprise, that was the part that bothered Edelgard most; she was proud of her country, proud of her ancestry,  _proud_ to be an Adrestian, and the idea of hiding such a thing, of being rejected for such a thing... it hurt her, considering it.

She pressed closer to him, and he pressed closer to her, too, even as she spoke.

“ Axes are a fine weapon,” she said, not talking about how heavy his obvious concern about revealing his heritage had made her heart. “ I know that it's more stereotypical for an Adrestian to use magic, but I prefer the weight of a heavy weapon in my hands.”

“ They go well with wyverns,” Claude said. “ Always wanted to be a wyvern rider- I like the idea of flying- but given what I look like... well, men looking like me on wyvern back, they tend to attract arrows in Leceister.”

“ I... have never really thought about flying,” Edelgard admitted. “ I do like nature, but I'm not sure how well I'd be suited to caring for a wyvern.”

Admittedly, flying above her foes and raining death down upon them  _did_ appeal to her.

“ What about a pegasus?” Claude asked.

“ Hubert would be jealous,” Edelgard said... though the real reason was that a pegasus would reject her out of hand, given her nature. She'd never even tried.

“ Hubert wants to ride a pegasus?” Claude said, his grin growing wider as he started chuckling. “ Oh, oh, I can just see it now. Hubert, the pegasus rider... ha ha!”

He started giggling helplessly. Edelgard rolled her eyes.

“ Be nice,” she said. “ Hubert's my best friend- and he's scared of heights anyway, I doubt he'd be any good as a pegasus rider even if one would let him.”

“ That's... that's just such an  _image_ in my head,” Claude said, still giggling. “ Hubert the pegasus knight. Land and sky, protect my sides.”

Land and sky? Said the way most people would say  _Goddess._ A prayer? Hmm. As Claude's giggling died a slow, lingering death- he actually wiped tears out of his eyes at one point- Edelgard pondered the cultural divide Claude represented, merely by existing. What  _did_ Almyrans do for religion? Did they even have one? Her studies had been relentlessly focused on Fodlan, so she didn't know... 

Religion was not exactly a light topic, but they were alone, and Edelgard found herself wondering what Claude prayed to, 

“ I... don't precisely like the Goddess,” Edelgard said, a bit haltingly. Not something a Fodlan could say in public, not without being harangued, though she'd noticed that Rhea herself was less hard on it than most of the Church. Her atheism was a secret she guarded from others... but Claude was Almyran, he wasn't likely to care.

And in time, none of it would matter. When her army stormed Garreg Mach and pulled all the statues down, the Church would be no more, and her atheism no longer a hunted or hounded thing but the proud position of all Adrestia.

“ I'm not exactly a believer myself,” Claude said, shrugging.

“ I... If it's not overstepping my boundaries,” Edelgard said quietly, “ what do Almyrans worship? If that's relevant to you; I must confess, I don't know much about anything beyond the Locket.”

“ No one in Fodlan does,” Claude opined, his voice taking a cynical cast she'd never heard from him before, expression growing dark for a second.

“ If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine,” Edelgard said, waving her hands before her as if to ward off an angry response. “ I'm sorry, I.. didn't know if the subject was offensive or not, it was merely idle curiosity, nothing more.”

But Claude's dour expression lightened, and he smiled at her again, still an honest smile, if smaller now. “ No, I don't mind. Somebody has to start this conversation; maybe it'd be different if there was a longer history or more attempts, but as it stands, we're effectively at the start of anything like a new understanding and rapport between the two areas. So it's okay.”

He paused, thinking how to answer.

“ I suppose... we worship the land,” he said. “ Not even sure worship's the right word. Respect, that might be better. We have rituals, but they're meant symbolically; fire rituals for purification, things you do so you _remember_ what's important. The world... the world around us... when we pray, when we worry, when we need comfort, that's what we look to. Not some unknown Goddess, but the world that provides us our food, our resoures, all the things we need.”

Edelgard looked at the world around her, and thought of all the peace it had brought her, peace she had never known in Garreg Mach's holy places.

“ ...That sounds wise,” Edelgard said, finally.

“ It's the way we've always been,” Claude said, and that sparked a whole new thought in Edelgard. 

It occurred to her that the original humanity, before the dragons, was more to be found in Claude's people than in Fodlan's, that the dark-skinned desert dwellers had not been  _infected_ the way Fodlan's natives had, poisoned with alien words and rituals. 

Maybe that was the root of the hatred in Fodlan for foreigners, that they had a purity to them Fodlan lacked... The Almyran religion might have been the religion Edelgard would follow, had human history been on the right course, and not altered by the touch of inhuman beasts.

They were quiet again, both thinking... at least, Edelgard thought Claude was thinking.

( He was; he was thinking on a woman who not only didn't care he was half-Almyran, but asked about Almyra, who seemed cautious and careful with the subject not out of fear, but out of courtesy. A rare and precious thing...)

The world passed them by again for a time, just laying there, shoulders touching now, taking comfort in each other's presence.

There was one last thing to discuss... and while Edelgard did not want to break the silence, somebody had to do it. She had never been the most subtle woman in the world, for all the lying and hiding she did. One did not wield an axe and fire magic because one used stealth as a  _first_ approach; the Flame Emperor was an Agarthan plan, the hiding and double-dealing and stealing was the way  _they_ fought. When she came into herself as the true Emperor of Adrestia, she would crush them with brute force, openly, and adopt their ways no more.

...But even an honest person like her could be gentle, and approach a subject in such a way that, if he didn't want to talk about it, they could both put it away.

“ Claude...” she said, not looking at him, it was easier if she didn't look at him. “ Do... you want to talk about us? This might be our only chance for a private conversation.”

His eyes widened, and he blushed a little, which Edelgard cheered inwardly as a little victory.

“ Don't mince words, do you, Princess?” he said, putting his hand behind his head again, nervous tic. “ Well, I suppose I already knew that about you. You're not afraid of anything.”

Not true... but it pleased her, that Claude thought her brave, so she said nothing of her fears. “ I am what I am,” she said instead. “ If you don't wish to talk about it, I'll understand.”

“ No,” he said, shaking his head as he lowered his arm, and quite deliberately turning to look her in the eyes. “ I'd rather talk about it. I had a bout of cowardice recently, and I didn't like it much. Doesn't suit me.”

Edelgard wondered what could make Claude- who had leapt before an axe without fear, on instinct, to save her life, and fought courageously against her own forces for months- cower, and guessed it would have to be some childhood trauma... but that might just be her projecting.

“ I agree,” she said. “ Cowardice doesn't suit you.”

He grinned, pleased. “ So... what do you want to say?”

“ We both know that our positions mean this can't go anywhere, but... that doesn't have to be a bad thing,” Edelgard said, remembering Dorothea's words to her. A pebble in the pocket to keep... “ It can be... a sweet thing.”

“ Young people and brief romance go well together, or so I've heard,” Claude said, a little less flippantly than he'd hoped. “ I suppose... what do you want this to be? Like you said, it can't last- I imagine you'll have to marry Ferdinand, and I'll end up having to look at prospects myself back home.”

Edelgard nodded, and noted Claude's rather astute political mind. But for factors Claude had no reason to know, that  _would_ be the safest thing- marry Ferdinand, and bring the most powerful noble family into the Emperor's line. 

( Though the idea of marrying Ferdinand-  _Ferdinand_ \- ugh, no.  _Terrible_ idea. The very thought made her wince. If she were to marry Ferdinand, she'd murder him the day after their first kid was born.)

“ I assume you'll marry Hilda?” Edelgard said. “ She is of the most appropriate rank, and her family is powerful in Leceister. Marianne is too low in the nobility to marry her, despite their affections... but given Hilda's loyalty to you, I could see the three of you coming to an understanding.”

“ Like Adrestians do?” Claude said with a laugh, having heard the stress Edelgard put on the last word. “ We're Leceisterfolk, not Adrestians... but I suppose that would be a pretty easy solution to a lot of problems.”

( He did not tell Edelgard that he was thinking of noblewomen of Almyra, who would not mind his heritage if it brought royal children with it; he would have to marry an Almyran, they barely tolerated his half-Fodlan blood, they would never tolerate someone less Almyran than he was.)

“ It would,” Edelgard said. Claude pondered a moment longer before breaking out into a wide grin.

“ I suppose I could always marry Lorenz, if for no other reason than to bug the hell out of him.”

Edelgard snorted at the thought. “ You  _would_ marry someone just to annoy them.”

“ So many husbands and wives annoy each other by accident,” Claude announced, clapping a hand dramatically to his chest. “ It would be good if someone, somewhere, were to annoy their spouse  _on purpose_ , and from the very start!”

Edelgard laughed as Claude struck a pose, finishing as he returned to his normal posture.

“ If you  _did_ marry Lorenz, you'd get thank-you cards from half the women at the monastery,” Edelgard said. “ I understand that he's slowed down since... but I thought Dorothea was going to kill him when I saw him flirting with Petra.”

“ He tried with Petra?” Claude said, boggling at the idea, and Edelgard nodded.

“ Yes, though this was before Dorothea and Petra were together,” Edelgard said. 

“ Dorothea would kill him and hide the body,” Claude said.

“ She would,” Edelgard mused. “ Though to Lorenz' credit, he doesn't go after taken women. I should point out that's the only credit I'll give him, however.”

“ He's been annoying,” Claude admitted. “ Though he's also shaping up; Leonie's put a stop to a lot of that. She won't tolerate it when she's near him, and she's with him a lot- and I think he's starting to think about  _why_ he shouldn't be that way. Though he's not thinking about why he's with Leonie a lot, that's for sure.”

“ Really?” Edelgard said, quirking an eyebrow. Claude nodded yes to her unspoken question.

“ He hasn't noticed that he doesn't really mind it when she stops him, and she hasn't really noticed that she wants him to stop for personal reasons,” Claude said. “ I'm hoping they'll both figure it out, but honestly, I'm having a lot of fun watching them fail to understand themselves.”

Edelgard smirked at that. “ Amusing... but we're off topic, I'm sorry.”

Claude waved a hand. “ It's fine,” he said. “ Since we know where we're going to be in the future... what do you want for right now?”

...What  _did_ she want? Now that it was before her, Edelgard realized she hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't... considered what her boundaries might be.

“ I... something like this?” Edelgard said, shrugging, moving a hand to the world around her. “ This won't last long, and we can't go far... but this is nice. This is  _good_ .”

Claude considered it a moment, then smiled- a real smile, touching his eyes. “ Yeah,” he said. “ Something just like this... except I'd like to kiss you, too, if that's alright.”

Edelgard's blush reached terminal, she was sure; but she nodded her head.

“ I'd like to kiss you, too,” she said.

Now Claude was blushing, terribly bright. “ Good, that's good...” he said, ducking his head away from her before recovering. “ Honestly, I'm just surprised that you aren't panicking, being so close to an Almyran. Aren't you afraid I'll swoop down on my wyvern and kidnap you to be my bride?”

...The mental image bothered her, but not for any of the reasons it should. Mostly she didn't like the idea of being kidnapped by anyone, even Claude; she was helpless often enough in her life, she did not want to have any more experiences with powerlessness.

...But _reversing_ the situation... that made her cheeks flush with blood. Yes, she liked _that_ image.

“ I believe I'd be more likely to kidnap _you_ ,” Edelgard said and was rewarded with Claude's blush going terminal. 

“ Well!” Claude said, and nothing else, for a moment. She'd really thrown him off with that. “ I... suppose I'm not entirely opposed... and on reflection, I should have expected that answer.”

She smiled. “ You should have.”

He turned to her, his eyes a little bit bashful. She had found his weakness, she felt; honest affection... shame it was her weakness, too. She was sure she was ripe as a tomato, felt red as her flag.

“ Would you kiss me?” he asked, and she answered by putting a gloved hand to his cheek and pulling him down to her.

...Kissing was... nice. Not world-ending. Her world didn't stop and life did not pause because she was having her first kiss.

But even awkward as it was, it felt _good_ , he felt right, the barest scritch as hairs not quite making anything yet on his chin rubbed against hers, his lips were soft... and he smelled nice, his cologne was well-made.

She pulled back after a moment, smiling, and he smiled too, and both smiles reached their eyes.

They kissed again- and again- and again.

-

In time, all things ended; Edelgard, more aware of her mortality than most, bid him good day, and she returned to the monastery, heart light and happy, and a decision made.

She would not kill him.

It was the only thing she could do for both Claude himself, and for Edelgard the Schoolgirl, who was not real- who she made up- but who, despite her artificial nature, had brought this sweetness to her. Edelgard- who, in private, believed that she was Edelgard the Flame Emperor, that the person she acted like at Garreg Mach was not her true self- had not expected this, but the false persona had given the true self a moment of genuine happiness, in which all her troubles were forgotten.

Claude had given her happiness.

Genuine joy was such a rare visitor to Edelgard that she could not help but find it precious- infinitely precious, it was worth more than gold, that against the weight of all her traumas she now had one more memory of happiness. Happiness not meant to last... but nothing ever truly lasted. Nothing was forever.

She'd been happy, for a moment. That was enough.

She couldn't have Claude, not the way she wanted... but she was used to being denied her wants. It was enough to be loved by him, just for a little while. So she will pay him for the happiness he has given her; she never forgot a debt she owed, both positive and negative, and this is a deep debt indeed.

He would be spared.

When she reached forth her hand- when she was the Emperor alone, and Edelgard the Schoolgirl a shattered mask, tossed to the side when need for her had passed- she would be gentle with him, take him into her palm and place him aside in safety.

She wouldn't cage him, though the thought idly crossed her mind; he was no pet eagle to keep. He was a Deer, and he needed to roam free. Besides, she would not subject another human to what had happened to her, to cells and entrapment. She would let him loose, no matter what wounds he inflicted on her beforehand or after; she was used to pain. 

But happiness... that was new, and she would pay him for it, honestly and in full.

Claude would live.

Some anxiety accompanied the thought; she knew she was not invincible, that plans never went the way one hoped. Observe this week for such events, the Midnight Duel had not been in any design of Edelgard's.

So she prayed- not to the Goddess, who was a dream of draconic masters, but to the world, an Almyran prayer, never really meant to be heard, offered more to honor Claude's beliefs than because she believed it would matter.

_World of mine, protect him,_ she thought, and maybe there was something to it; her heart was soothed a little by the thought.

In her room- in the little time she had left that day- she took out a piece of paper, and she began to paint on it, sketching in black paint a picture of a good-looking man, laying asleep in the shade of a tree.

That night, she fell asleep to warm thoughts of Claude; and though she forgot to brew Dorothea's gift, her sleep was untroubled by nightmares, and full of dreams.

( Not of Claude, strangely; dreams of winged stone, of words said in ancient tongue she knew deep in her bones, things so old they were myth when the feet of God first touched down upon this world.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
> 
> You may have noticed I changed last chapter's name; I had a REALLY good idea while writing this chapter, so stay tuned for more Tarot usage! PROPER Tarot usage. Nothing bugs me more than wasted symbolism.
> 
> Note that characters in Fire Emblem: Three Houses already have cards associated with them, and the symbolism is generally quite good; however, due to the change in the timeline, each character now has NEW cards associated with them, reflecting their changed roles. The old ways are done, and the new ways are yet forming... and so the deck has been reshuffled.
> 
> Note that this means that Claude and Edelgard now share a joint Tarot card.


	13. Paralogue: Death, Reversed and Upright

**Paralogue**

**Death, Reversed and Upright**

Someone was taking care of him/them.

They were vaguely aware of it, through the pain. Of something cool and soft pressed against their feverish, swollen skull; of light filtering into their system, seeking out wounds and healing them. Of pain where their arm should be, and of light pressure that made the pain spike and then soothed it; distantly, through what few neurons still functioned in their bruised brain, they smelled antiseptics, vulneraries, and the bright, somehow _blue_ scent of elixir... but who would waste an elixir on them? Who would spend the gold? They were murderer, monster, killer of innocents; he still saw them, the girls he'd killed. The Death Knight laughed at the memory, even as they were hurt; Jeritza said nothing; Emilie had nightmares. A shame the Knight was their strongest part.

( _Then why did he lose?_ The thought rips through all three of them, and the Death Knight quails back. The Death Knight did not  _lose_ ... but now, he had, and at the hands of one he had thought he was toying with. For the first time in long years, Emilie feels the grip the Death Knight has on his skull... loosen. Just a little. But there is a crack in the wall now, letting light in...)

Timeless, they sleep again, confused dreams. A battlefield of white and black; white lightning in their hands, searing the sky, tearing at the night with claws of wicked electricity. Black shadow in the hands of a witch, striking back, a great black sword cutting down his false sun. A screamed curse, sudden pain, a sensation of loss and balance upset, right before a small and powerful hand grabbed the mask on his face and he knew nothing more than pain.

( A dim thought of someone calling him  _corpsefucker_ , which all three parts of him took offense to; be all his sins remembered, the Death Knight had never practiced necrophilia, nor any sexual deviancy at all. His murders were strictly platonic.)

Distantly, they managed to flutter open one blackened eye... and there she was, a harried young woman holding up stoically, cleaning his wound, hair in a side plait, the one person he truly wished would never know who he was, what he had become.

Unbidden, some part of them/him spoke her name.

“ Mercedes...”

Her eyes, flashing wide, in shock, and it was too much, too much.

The darkness took over, and there was no more thought for a while.

-

They remember a house.

They remember a man. Emilie calls him  _father_ , but neither Jeritza nor the Death Knight call him by that term. 

The man speaks in a lovely tone words of terrible ugliness; he will take Emilie's older sister and he will have her breed strong children with Crests.

Mercedes does not want this, Emilie knows, that is why she fled; but the man does not care. He will rape a legacy out of her.

Emilie didn't have the power to fight the man... but then, the other voice spoke up.

The Death Knight and Emilie both remember his first words, spoken from the back of Emilie's mind, from that place that wanted only to protect his sister, and kill the monster before him, a voice to save him from his own helplessness.

_**Let me have him.** _

Emilie does not remember killing the man; he remembers waking up and the man was dead. He remembers a farmer's scythe, stolen from the stables- the armory was under too much lock and guard, but the stables housed the farming equipment, and the scythe had been recently repaired and sharpened. 

He remembers the sensation that had overcome him, as he saw that man who would abuse his sister dead at his feet; joy, an unbridled joy, knowing that his sister would be free. He would pay for this, he knew, but right now he blessed the devil he'd made a deal with; he'd kept his end of the bargain.

And even now, Emilie- even as he is the smallest part of the amalgamation that moves this body- is  _grateful_ , grateful that, no matter what has happened to him, what kind of demon he has become, Mercedes got to live her own life.

( In the world outside his skull, tears run down his face, and Mercedes dabs them away, wondering what inspires them.)

-

In another place, eyes fluttered open underneath white hair.

The heroine of the hour, the warrior witch who had fought the Horseman of Death before all Garreg Mach, raised up on one elbow.

“ Huzzagh?” she said, with all the eloquence of one who has overslept.

“ Welcome back!” a voice said. Lysithea's blurry eyes blinked three times before the voice resolved into a face and a body- Leonie, giving her a cheerful smile, even as she pulled a canteen from her belt. “ Gonna be thirsty, I imagine.”

Lysithea moved one weak hand to grip the canteen, sucking it down with absolutely no poise or elegance whatsoever. She put the bottle down and shook her head, banishing the last vestiges of sleep. 

“ I... ok. How long have I been out?”

“ Couple of days,” Raphael said. Her brain was looking at the room more clearly now; a bed in the center, which she was in, a small table set up nearby with what looked like a game of checkers (in which red was beating the absolute shit out of black, some part of Lysithea noted, though black had a good position to rally from.) Leonie and Raphael next to her bed. “ You woke up once, Claude said, and ate a little; how you feeling now?”

Lysithea pondered that for a minute, brain still in the process of booting up. “ ...Hungry,” she said, then took a sniff of herself. “ Need a shower.”

“ Yeah,” Leonie said, “ the healers have been washing you, but nothing beats a good shower. We'll talk after you've cleaned up. Shower's over there- can you walk?”

“ Does a bear shit in the woods?” Lysithea snarked as she flung her covers off of her. Of  _course_ she could walk. She was not a helpless child.

Her legs were fine with moving on the bed, fine with touching the floor, all fine... up until the exact moment she put pressure on them. Then her knees turned to useless jelly and she began to pitch forward, too surprised even to yell... but then a big hand on her shoulder caught her, along with a smaller hand on her left.

“ Whoa! Hey there,” Raphael said. “ Careful, careful.”

Lysithea's face flushed as she realized how she'd embarrassed herself.

“ I... sorry,” she said, willing her legs to hold her up, voice low and quiet. “Sorry- I'll be fine.”

Leonie let go, not willing to risk Lysithea's wrath; but Raphael, who was used to more or less the same treatment from his sister, held on.

“ I said I'm fine!” Lysithea insisted.

“ I know that,” Raphael said, while cheerfully not letting go. “ But I'm going to help you anyway.”

“ Brave man,” Leonie opined quietly, as the gentlest Deer helped the angriest one.

“ Why are you like this?” Lysithea grumbled... even as she tried taking her first shaking step, and was grateful for Raphael's presence, his strong arms the only thing keeping her on her feet.

“ You know, my sister is just like this,” Raphael said. “ Never could stand anyone helping her; had to convince her it's okay, you know? I need help sometimes. We all do. Ain't no shame. You fought the Death Knight for Ferdinand; it's no trouble to help you a bit now.”

Lysithea bit all the words on her tongue, remembered Raphael's face when she'd told the Deer about... no, she wasn't awake enough to think on it. When she'd told them about  _that_ . She focused on her next step, even as she remembered Raphael, the tears on his face giving the big, cheerful man a strange dignity in those moments, and how despite his weeping, he had not condescended to her, had not struck her with that awful pity she so feared, but asked only that she accept their help.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to rely on someone who did not pity you, but would still cry for your sorrows...

“ I still don't like it,” she growled, and Raphael just laughed.

“ Maya doesn't like it either,” he said. “ Can't wait for you guys to meet.”

“ Your sister's coming here?” Lysithea asked, and Raphael nodded.

“ Yeah,” Raphael said. “ She'd planned to come by and see me around this time anyway... heh, got a lot more to talk about then I expected! I'll have to make sure you guys meet.”

“ Oh?” Lysithea said, as she took another step on legs that were, slowly, finding their balance.

“ Yeah,” Raphael said. “ You're going to  _hate_ each other.”

“ I- what?” Lysithea said, turning to look up at the giant.

“ You're too much alike,” Raphael said, and he sounded like he was  _gloating,_ which wasn't like him at all! “ You're gonna meet and it's gonna be like two stray cats meeting over a piece of fish. Ya'll are gonna fight and it'll be great. I can't  _wait_ to see it.”

“ That's- that's a lot more evil than I expected out of you, Raphael,” Leonie said, and Raphael's grin just grew.

“ Everybody's got a little meanness in them,” he said. Lysithea snorted.

“ I bet we'll get on great,” she said, feeling spiteful and not a little contrary. “ We'll be best friends and we'll make fun of you for thinking we'd hate each other.”

“ Sure you will,” Raphael said, and hearing  _Raphael_ be sarcastic gave Lysithea strength enough to break away from him.

“ Hmph!” she announced as she took a step and, finding her feet didn't immediately fail, took anotehr. “ When your sister gets here, I'll prove you wrong, you big oaf! Now leave, I'm going to shower.”

She stomped away to the room's little shower, a small amenity for the sickroom... well, she  _tried_ to stomp away, she mostly just kind of wobbled forth.

( The mystery of Garreg Mach's showers was answered easily; Rhea had suppressed most technology for fear of humans using it to slaughter what was left of her people, but she had liked cleanliness too much to destroy the knowledge of plumbing. Biases could appear in the oddest places.)

When Lysithea shut the door, and the shower turned on, Leonie turned to Raphael, confident Lysithea couldn't hear them.

“ Okay, spill,” she said.

“ What?” Raphael said, giving her an innocent look. The would-be mercenary woman gave him a deadpan look.

“ You're not mean at all,” Leonie said. “ So what was this whole thing about Maya and Lysithea hating each other?”

“ Oh, that!” Raphael said, grinning widely. “ I want them to get along, but I know both of them. If I told either one that they'd be great friends, they'd become enemies just to be difficult. They don't like being lead anywhere, so you gotta trick them into going where you want them to go. Like cats. I tell them they'll hate each other, they'll be best buds.”

Leonie stared at him for a moment.

“ I... Raphael, I didn't know you were so devious!”

He grinned. “ Ain't devious at all! I just know my sister really well. And Lysithea, she might as  _well_ be my little sister, she's so much like Maya. And it's good for people to get along, you know? I ain't doing nothing bad, just making sure they have a friend.”

“ Yeah, but still,” Leonie said, shaking her head. “ Wouldn't have expected that kind of thing from you, feels more like a Claude thing.”

“ Maybe he's rubbing off on me,” Raphael said, still grinning. “ Hey, maybe I'll turn out to be the best schemer in the Deer- I'm beating you at checkers, after all!”

“ Just what the world needed,” Leonie said, shaking her head. “ The true mastermind arises, and it's Raphael- Goddess save us, we're all doomed.”

Raphael's big laugh echoed in the healing halls.

-

A noise awoke them- some big laugh, it sounded like, though it faded before they could truly rise.

Still, as their brain crawled towards the surface of their mind, they found that they felt... better. Their skull felt less swollen, the pressure was abating in their head, and the place where their arm had been had been reduced to a dull ache.

( _I'm missing an arm,_ the Death Knight thought with horror, the first thoughts the beast had ever had that were scared or frightened,  _I'm missing an arm!_ ) 

Jeritza opened their eyes. 

Garreg Mach, he thought. Healer's room. None of it important.

His eyes went to the door. Noise outside it. His body was tied down- he hadn't noticed that before- he was strapped to the bed. Only his head had any freedom of movement.

Of course. Rhea would not let him leave; she hadn't had time to... indulge herself... on him.

( The Death Knight trembled again. The whole  _point_ of the Death Knight was that he did not lose... but lose he had, and now all of them were going to pay for their mistakes.)

He hoped only that it would be quick, even as he knew it would not be. Rhea seemed to have a...  _flair_ in her sense of torture, though she'd never struck him as a sadist. Perhaps the inhuman thing simply had different emotional tells, or was doing it merely so that the spectacle of her executions would encourage humanity not to cross her.

...Inhuman... humanity...

“ Mercedes,” Emilie said. She... she had to know. He had to tell her about what Rhea was. It wouldn't endanger Edelgard's mission; everyone in the school knew how close she was to the Deer's leader, and... and if Mercedes knew, then when Edelgard launched her great war, perhaps Mercedes would be safe, would join her. 

The fear that Mercedes would die gave every part of them the strength to push past their pain, to forget the torture that no doubt awaited them... and to focus on their sibling. Where was she?... the room was empty, but they heard noises outside the door still, noises resolving themselves into words they strained to hear.

“ ...you, Dedue,” came Mercedes' voice. “ I know how time-consuming cooking for others is, and I also know you made those treats for Lysithea. Thank you.”

“ It is nothing,” came a voice Jeritza didn't immediately recognize, but he knew the name 'Dedue' from some of Edelgard's briefings; the big Duscur who followed Dimitri around. “ Byleth informed me while we were gardening of the goings-on, and I remembered from your time with the Lions that you liked these kinds of meals.”

“ I cannot thank you enough,” Mercedes said. “ I haven't had time to cook, as you might imagine...”

A pause, then, “ The cookies are for your brother, when he awakes. Linhardt asked a few professors for me; apparently Jeritza liked sweets from the cafeteria.”

A longer pause. “ You... for him?” Mercedes asked.

“ They are not poisoned,” came the reply. “ I... know how precious family is. His last moments with you should be... made the best of, and a preferred treat is an easy thing to make. If it eases the pain in any way, it was worth it.”

A very long pause, right then, before Mercedes spoke in clear and authoritative tone. 

“ Dedue, if you are ever in need... ask. I owe a debt to you, for this.”

“ It is nothing.”

“ To me, it's everything,” Mercedes said. “ Thank you.”

“ I... you're welcome,” Dedue said, sounding awkward and shy.

Then the sound of the big man moving away, and the door opened, revealing their sister at last.

“ Oh, you're awake!” she said, seeing the open eyes. She held a basket in her hands, stuffed full of the Duscur man's kindness; a bottle of decent, if not great, wine poked out of one corner, accompanied by a set of herring and fruit tarts, neat little packages of stewed fish and sweet noa fruit in sealed pockets of bread. Convenient food for the working woman; could eat them without making a mess and they fit in the hand. Mercedes had always liked those, when they were children; apparently she'd never given them up.

Sitting next to them was a set of triangular cookies, not the globbier mounds Mercedes preferred to make; Dedue's gift to them, they supposed, and Emilie felt a wave of something like gratitude through himself and Jeritza. Even the Death Knight grunted in acknowledgment of the gift.

She put the basket down on a convenient nearby table before heading to their bedside.

“ How are you feeling?” she asked, a little too brightly, and some piece on the inside of them broke- broke again- they had shattered their heart once before, for Mercedes, and now it was breaking again. They had brought her so much pain...

But they rallied. Emilie, the smallest part of them, took over, forcefully kicked the others aside. He would protect Mercedes the only way he knew how.

He would tell her the truth.

“ Mercedes, I need you to listen to me,” Emilie said, shutting his eyes as a sudden rush of dizziness rushed through his system, as his willpower was battled by his wounds. He talked through clenched teeth and closed eyes as waves of pain tried to drag him under. “ There is more going on here than you know.”

“ Emilie, it's okay,” Mercedes said. “ I know... what you've done... I can't condone it, but I want to understand...”

“ More important than that,” he managed to choke out. “ Bigger than that. Bigger. Rhea. Not human. Things that aren't human run the Church...”

“ What are you talking about?” Mercedes asked.

“ The girl I was after- not human,” Emilie said- and it was too much, too much, he passed out.

He prayed, before the dark took him, that she understood his words, that he would have another chance to explain it to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note here:
> 
> Jeritza and Lysithea share the Death card together, but in different ways.
> 
> Jeritza represents Death Reversed, which is why his part starts the chapter; he cannot change, as the card demands, all three parts of him stuck as the monster. He is suffering the long-term mental health problems that have led him to where he is, and 
> 
> Lysithea is Death Upright; she is change and growth, transition, moving from the girl who relied on no one to the woman who knows that she is not weak when she asks for help. She is also endings; she has ended the Death Knight's reign of terror, she ends her foes, and she herself will have an early ending.
> 
> Also, Death is the 13th Major Arcana card in the Tarot; and this is chapter 13 of my tale. Nice, huh? :D


	14. Paralogue: The Hierophant, Reversed

Paralogue: The Hierophant, Reversed

Rhea hoped Byleth liked the tea.

It was a lot less sweet than Byleth preferred, closer to the tongue-stinging bitterness Rhea craved, and she worried that she wouldn't like it. She would normally have just served one of the sweet teas the professor liked... but Byleth had been urging her to do more than simply use her favorite tea every time they met.

Thus, this new blend, which Rhea had tried for the last week before daring to put it before Byleth. It was her attempt to thread the needle of their different palates; not too sweet, not too bitter. And just in case it was still a bit too grim for Byleth, she'd asked for some of the best sweets the chefs could come up with, though honestly she doubted they'd meet Byleth's high standards. Not only had the loss of the kitchens greatly reduced Garreg Mach's food resources, but Byleth taught the class _Mercedes von Martritz_ was in. 

Even Rhea had heard of the Adrestian ex-patriate's incredible talents in the kitchen; and if Byleth knew a cook like that, Rhea doubted her own chef's best efforts would be all that appealing. Archbishop of all Fodlan she might be, but Rhea liked to think she could recognize her limits.

Still, she hoped Byleth liked them, that if the tea proved too strong, she'd be grateful for something sweet to go with it. That should work... right?

Rhea pursed her lips. It had been a long time since she'd been... nervous. She almost hadn't recognized the sensation. A silly thing, to be nervous over afternoon tea... but Byleth... she was special.

( _I think I might be-_ no, no, push that thought away. Improper. Wrong.)

Maybe Rhea should have asked someone for assistance, but... well, it wasn't like Rhea had that many people to ask. Seteth, perhaps, but given how busy he was with Flayn and rewarding the two who had saved her, she would have felt a bit silly asking him about what tea to serve Byleth.

...And she didn't really want him involved. Seteth was too smart, he was like her, an original... he remembered Zanado, and not in the shattered way Flayn did.

( Flayn... the broken child. If further proof was needed that there would be no more generations of the Nabatea, this was it: Flayn, their youngest, their hope for the future, rendered strange in spirit and mind by her long rest, and who knew what else. Her wounds had been so extensive, it was a wonder that even the powerful constitution her mother had crafted into the bones of Nabataeans had been able to heal her, and some of those wounds had never truly healed. It was why she could not transform; all her years of sleep had restored only her human form. Her dragon form was dying still, would be forever dying, and should she shift into it, she would die too.)

No, best to do it the way she'd done it all these years; alone.

Time was near, and she didn't want to slip away inside, not when it was so close to time for Byleth to arrive, so she forced herself to sit at her desk and focus on some papers she'd have to deal with today. Most of the papers were of no great importance, just things that were the bureaucratic equivalent of short notes: an albino wyvern born in the stables that the stablemaster wasn't sure what to do with, that same stablemaster's continuing inability to find a rider for the black pegasus stallion in the stables, several papers involving Catherine's continued complaints about Byleth's “undue influence” on the Archbishop, a few scattered notes from Aelfric about the Wolves doing well in the Abyss.

( At that exact moment, Yuri was running a mercenary through, finishing off yet another probing attack on the Abyss. Metodey, who was taking a break from the Flame Emperor's army to do mercenary work, wisely ran away from the swift blade of the Wolf Lord, and also managed to dodge a resurgant Constance's swiftly-hurled frost.)

The only note that caught her eye was Jeralt's tight, surprisingly eloquent script, talking of his mission's failure. Jeralt's patrol group was coming back, having failed to find the Relic hunters who'd been going to _Brigid_ of all godforsaken places- they'd apparently just vanished into thin air, with only a few scattered trails leading to Faerghus, which Jeralt had dismissed as fake leads. It didn't make sense for them to go to the Kingdom, not when they were chasing an Adrestian relic; though his writing indicated that, if Church intelligence was wrong about their goal, they could well be in the Kingdom.

Unusual, for Jeralt to fail... she'd have to find an excuse to send him back out as soon as he returned. She preferred him out of the way while she figured out what to do about Byleth.

(  _While you manipulate her_ , a voice whispered in her head, a voice that sounded like her mother, that had been with her for a thousand years... but lately, the voice seemed stronger, at least where Byleth was concerned. Echoes of the Crest Stone she had for a heart, or... something else? Rhea could not parse it out.)

She pushed that voice aside. No, no, she... she wasn't  _manipulating_ Byleth. She was getting to know her, to see if she was her mother reborn, and she was doing it without outside interference. That was all.

( _Then why do you feel-_ no, no,  **no** , she would not think that thought, she would not acknowledge this thing inside her, no, no,  **no** . Push it aside, push it away, Rhea; do not look at it.)

Admittedly, Byleth didn't _act_ like Rhea's mother, though to be perfectly fair, Byleth didn't act like _anybody_ Rhea had ever met. The dragon's memories of her mother recalled a sarcastic, snarky, loving person who was a bundle of fun; she remembered her mom laughing when Rhea first tried to fly, the divinity in draconic form finally showing her how, mocking Rhea's childish determination to do it herself that mostly ended with her crashing into things.

Rhea had taken a while to get the hang of it. She was a clumsy flier, even now, nothing like what some of the flying aces of her kind had been. She was lucky she was so durable; crashing as a child had not hurt her. Sothis had praised her great strength and durability.

_Little strong-scale,_ she'd called her, with an amused smile, and that was one of Rhea's most precious memories; Sothis' undivided attention, the smiling regard of a living god, directed at her. Mother's love and creator's love, warm and soft, like a blanket on a cold day.

( Rhea's devotion for all these centuries had its basis in this simple fact: Sothis had been a good mother.)

Byleth wasn't like that. Byleth was... different. Less passionate, and far less sarcastic; her mind a whirlwind of ideas and thoughts, slamming into social situations like a boulder falling off a cliff. Straightforward and strange, that was Byleth.

Though there was at least one area in which Byleth had great passions- when defending her precious students. Gossip all over the school had said Byleth had _roared_ when she found Claude's would-be killer, that she had beat the man to death with her bare hands... and then she'd cried on Claude afterwards, according to witnesses. Such ferocity for a loved one, mixed with such tenderness... such care and concern, hidden underneath a stoic mask.

( Not the only time Rhea had heard of Byleth crying. Shamir had reported Byleth breaking down in the cemetery, crying into Aelfric's arms, witnessed by some guards; Rhea had put the report down, grief-stricken by the simple words and the image they conjured, of Byleth above the grave of a woman whose name Rhea still could not bring herself to say. Rhea had wept, and gotten nothing more done all that day.)

...Sothis' rage was not like that at all. It was terrifying. The only time Rhea had ever been genuinely _scared_ of her mother was an incident early on, when she had been very young... some group of humans had set up something underground. Rhea didn't really remember it that well- something about vats, and words she barely understood at the time. Drones- clones? Something artificial, made out of natural parts. A “contingency plan”, someone had said, though Rhea had not understood that, either.

Mother had been furious. Creation, perverted- she had taken it personally. She had went terribly still, and terribly cold, and there had been a sense of _wrongness_ in the air, as the Goddess of the Beginning went forth to bring about ending, as Creation wrought Destruction on the world.

...Sothis had been angry for a long few weeks after that, and frustrated, as though she'd missed something... but Rhea, spooked, had been sent to stay with older siblings in that time, and did not know what had transpired.

So many differences, even if their power felt so similar, even if the light inside Byleth was the same titanic sun that had been inside her mother. Too cold and too hot, all at the same time; Rhea could see few similarities, even as part of her desperately wished to, hoped against hope that  _this_ time, her mother would reawaken. She had not put the Stone in Byleth so that her mother would reawaken, but some part of her, tired of her own failures, had still hoped that the great work was yet complete...

But if it was, Rhea could see no sign of it. No, Byleth did not act like Rhea's mother. Rhea wasn't sure what that meant, and was both excited and afraid for it. It meant she had failed.

(  _But it also means that... if she's not my mother, if Byleth is Byleth alone, then what I feel-_ )

**No.** Just... no. Not yet. Not until she knew more.

...She wished she wasn't at odds with herself, that Rhea the Archbishop and Rhea the Nabataean could be one person, at peace at last.

( Edelgard, somewhere else, felt a moment's bizarre sympathy, as of someone else suffering as she suffered; but the moment passed, and Edelgard the Emperor in her mind planned her next action as Edelgard the Person's hands painted Claude.)

Then the knock came, and Rhea's thoughts were banished by a surge of emotion she dared not name.

“ Come in,” she called, and in she came; the sum of all Rhea's hopes and fears. Byleth favored her with a smile.

“ Hello, Archbishop,” she greeted, giving a small bow.

“ Now, now,” Rhea said, smiling back, “ I've told you- just call me Rhea.”

She poured the tea as Byleth sat down. Not proper; but somehow, she felt... wrong... to make Byleth pour for her. It felt nice, to pour for her.

“ Sorry, force of habit,” Byleth apologized, as she picked up her cup and breathed in the scent. “ Oh, this is a new tea.”

“ I took your advice,” Rhea said. “ It's a middle ground between our favorites- though I have sweets, if you need sugar.”

She indicated the broad sweep of delicate cookies on a fine platter nearby.

“ Do you have sugar cubes?” Byleth asked. Rhea shook her head.

“ Goddess, no. Sugar cubes for tea? I didn't take you for a glutton or a decadent, Byleth,” Rhea teased, smiling to show there was no venom in her words.

Byleth's mouth made a tiny smirk as she blew on her tea to cool it. “ Lorenz bought some for Lysithea a while back, after she fought the Death Knight the first time. She uses it for her tea; she seems to like it.”

The young Gloucester had done that? Rhea didn't bother to hide her surprise. “ An expensive present. She must be high in his regard. Did he attach a letter to it asking her to date him?”

“ No, he's mostly stopped that,” Byleth said, though she chuckled a bit, remembering the buffoon Lorenz had once been. “ Though Leonie did make fun of him, telling him that he couldn't woo Lysithea with expensive presents, it wasn't in her nature to appreciate the value of things. She'd told him to buy her stuff if he was going to try wooing others with money.”

( Lorenz had responded by buying Leonie a bottle of elixir, at high price. Leonie, who  _ did  _ know the value of money, had blushed ferociously upon receipt, holding the goofy, honorable nobleman's gift in her hands with a sense of awe.)

Rhea smirked. “ Admittedly, if someone bought  _ me  _ something so expensive so I could drink it, I'd feel warmer towards them.”

“ Oh,” Byleth said, face turning inward the smallest bit, her version of a face deep in thought. “ I wouldn't have figured you'd lack for anything, Rhea.”

Rhea shrugged. “ I don't; if it can be bought, Church funds are sufficient to buy it. Not that I'd approve of senseless spending on private matters; that would just be wasteful.”

Byleth nodded, still thinking. “ But... that means you don' have any personal expenses, correct? Because you have no actual salary, since you own the Church entire. All your funds are Church funds.”

“ I... yes?” Rhea said, quirking an eyebrow, wondering where Byleth was going with this, and rather enjoying the odd turn in the conversation. She never knew what Byleth was going to say, and after a long lifetime of accurately predicting ( _ and manipulating _ , that quiet voice said) humans, that was a delight to be savored.

“ When was the last time you bought something just for yourself, Rhea?” Byleth asked. Rhea turned the question over in her mind, and to her surprise, found... nothing.

“ I... don't know,” Rhea answered, and Byleth nodded after a moment.

“ I'll get you something,” she said. “ What do you like? I know I've given you some flowers before, but a proper present is something different.”

Rhea's heart should not have fluttered in her chest at the idea of Byleth buying her a present, she was not a teenager or a child and there was so much between them... and yet...

She swallowed hard on a suddenly dry throat.

( Rhea did not think of it, but it had been  _ centuries  _ since anyone had thought to ask her something as simple and small as what she'd like for a gift. There was no lonelier beast in Fodlan than the Archbishop; even Catherine, for all her desire, did not think of Rhea as a  _ person _ , first.)

“ I... I don't know,” Rhea said. “ It's been a long time since anyone has given me anything.”

“ I'll surprise you, then,” Byleth said, as calmly as discussing the weather, before taking a sip of her tea. She paused, took another sip, and pursed her lips.

“ Too bitter?” Rhea asked. She'd have to try a sweeter blend- or buy sugar cubes, apparently  _ that  _ was an option.

“ More than I'm used to,” Byleth said. “ But... not bad. Different. Maybe that's good; Lorenz and Ferdinand both claim you can get into a rut if you only drink your favorite teas all the time.”

“ I bow to their superior wisdom regarding tea,” Rhea said, and Byleth gave her a little smile again.

They were quiet for a second, sipping their tea, Rhea finding it too sweet and Byleth finding it too bitter... but both willing to compromise, letting the foreign flavors wash over their tongues.

Then Byleth spoke up again, and once more, she was throwing the conversation somewhere absolutely unrelated to any subject already discussed.

“ I'd like to ask you about Jeritza's fate,” Byleth said. “ I want him to live.”

Rhea had just finished a drink, so she didn't spit it out, but it had been a near thing.

“ I... why?!?” Rhea asked, nonplussed. Byleth took note of her reaction but plowed forward in her emotionless way anyway.

“ He is Mercedes' brother,” Byleth said, the smallest hint of sorrow under her words, a hidden current. “ He has been lost a long time, and now she finds him- but he has become this...”

“ He has murdered the innocent,” Rhea said, anger coloring her thoughts as she considered Jeritza's actions. Her precious followers, slaughtered like sheep; it was her duty as Archbishop, as Warden of all Fodlan, to protect the humans under her charge, from themselves and from others. And if she could not  _ stop  _ the killings, she had a duty to  _ avenge  _ them- and duty was the word that had kept Rhea going for a thousand years.

Jertiza had to  _ pay  _ for what he'd done. 

“ He deserves death, Byleth.”

“ I agree,” the professor said. “ I'm not arguing for _him_. I'm arguing on behalf of Mercedes. She just wants to save her brother.”

“ Sister or not, he is a monster,” Rhea growled. Byleth nodded, unfazed.

“ True,” Byleth said. “ But hear me out, before you make a decision. I've worked on a solution that neutralizes the threat he represents- a way to let him live, and make sure he hurts no one else, ever again..”

Rhea frowned. “ I... Byleth, you are asking me to show mercy to a murderer- do you know what he has done? Families have written me, begging for me to hunt down the Death Knight, he has taken their daughters in the night...”

“ I know,” Byleth said. “ And Mercedes has begged me for a way to save him.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Rhea wondered what Byleth was feeling; Rhea's own guts were in a roil, she didn't like this, she didn't like arguing with Byleth. Even beyond... everything, it just felt... wrong... but she still had her duty. Jeritza was a monster... and maybe Rhea felt a little guilt, for his actions. It was her, after all, who had invited the vampire in the front door; she had hired him. She hadn't checked his references carefully enough, she had not kept good enough watch on him, she... she had failed her followers, yet again.

While she pondered her responsibility, Byleth spoke, her words heavy and... pleading, she was coming as close to begging as Rhea had ever heard her. Maybe as close as she had _ever_ come.

“ Rhea... _please._ ”

...In the face of that tiny shift in tone, Rhea, the most powerful person in Fodlan, was helpless to do aught but acquiesce.

“ Fine,” she snorted, though anger still stuck to her insides, clung to these tiny human ribs. She was _mad_ , but... she'd at least hear Byleth out. Who knew, maybe the professor's ideas would have merit. “ I will listen, but I... I can't just let him _go_ , Byleth.”

Her mind ran over letters and reports she'd received of girls just... disappearing. There were weeping families all about Garreg Mach, and Rhea owed her followers Jeritza's head for his murders, for her failure to stop him before it began.

( She didn't know it, but the reports dated to when the Death Knight entered Thales' service. Edelgard kept a closer watch on him than that, gave him worthy targets to appease his needs from the jails of Adrestia, pedophiles and rapists, the kind of folk who needed a good killing; but Thales just told him to go have fun, and Emile, helpless, and Jertiza, uncaring, had watched the Death Knight use their hands to kill.)

“ I intend for you to release him into Mercedes' custody,” Byleth said. “ But this isn't just for her sake; it will also solve some of the political issues Jertiza's death will cause.”

“ Oh?” Rhea said. What was Byleth talking about? Political... oh, yes, he was an Adrestian count. She'd almost forgotten, in all the excitement.

“ Yes, I've pondered the situation and have a proposal,” Byleth said.

( This was a lie; Byleth had no solution. But Claude did, when Mercedes had begged him for help, and the schemer and the holy archer had sat down with their teacher, asking for her help; Byleth had given it without reservation. For her precious students, she'd move heaven and earth- or, at least, an archbishop.)

“ Let's hear it then,” Rhea said.

“ He is the current Viscount of House Hrym,” Byleth said. “ And a member of House Bartels, long lost. His simple death would cause political issues in a region that's already troubled with them. As just one example, Adrestia exerts an undue amount of influence on House Ordelia, due to Hrym's attempted rebellion some years back, despite Ordealia being a Leceister noble house. Having Hrym collapse once more serves no one's interests.”

Rhea wasn't entirely sure that political analysis was correct; she saw no trouble with Adrestia controlling part of the Alliance. Adrestia, her favored nation, formed by her good friend Wilhelm so long ago.... yes, it was right that it should be stronger than Leceister, which was born of human hands only, and had far too much of a foreign influence for Rhea's taste. Why, look at their very inheritor, and his Almyran skin...

...But Byleth was still talking, and Rhea kept her thoughts in the background as she focused.

“ As you might recall, House Bartels was wiped out in one night,” Byleth said. “ But Mercedes' words prove that Jeritza is the long lost Emilie Bartels. He has two noble claims in his blood.”

“ Bartels was an eastern barony of Adrestia, if I recall,” Rhea said. “ Not exactly important.”

Baronies were the lowest of all noble claims- low enough that in Leceister, the title could literally be purchased. Even Adrestia, which loved its nobility, didn't view barons as being much more than, effectively, Crested commoners.

“ But Hrym is,” Byleth said. “ Jeritza is the Viscount of Hrym now, a border territory with the Alliance, and one prone to rebellion; it's not exactly a minor territory. It's a historical accident that it's not a March, and its ruler a Margrave, for one thing, and I doubt the Adrestian Empire wants border territory to be so rebellious and uncontrolled. If it goes without a noble to lead it, then some other Adrestian house will claim it for power- most likely House Aegir, who has influence enough within Adrestia.”

A trenchant political analysis, which didn't surprise Rhea; Byleth knew the strangest things. She was laying it on a bit thick, in Rhea's opinion... but... there _was_ merit to her words. Rhea sipped her slightly-too-sweet tea, and pondered. House Aegir was almost certain to take the territory, because Ludwig von Aegir's ambition knew no bounds... and she did not like that idea.

No, the Insurrection that had removed sweet Wilhelm's blood from real power was not something she was fond of, though she had hesitated to launch the Church to war to restore his family to their rightful place. That's what it would have taken, by the time she learned of the Insurrection; seven of the strongest families in Adrestia, all turned against the Emperor. If she had wanted to stop that, her only realistic option was to use force. Condemning them and trying to shame them into compliance wouldn't have worked, given the estrangement between the central Church and Adrestia; no, she would have had to call in troops, and go to war. Worse, if she condemned them and then did not go to war, the Church's power would be seen as toothless, a result even worse than warfare.

She had not been willing to risk so many of her follower's lives, just to restore Wilhelm's blood to the throne. For all that Rhea was perfectly willing to lie to her followers, and to pursue her own selfish interests in reviving her mother, she had judged it too... petty, too bound up in her own wants, to throw away their lives in pursuit of her memory of a friend. Rhea had many failures to her name in her great duty to watch over Fodlan in her mother's absence, and going to war just for Wilhelm's memory had seemed like a mistake to her.

So while it had been a close thing- close indeed- she had, in the end, stayed silent, and acquiesced to the takeover.

Then the family had died of an illness. Rhea's heart still ached with guilt; would they have lived, if she had acted? Sickness could never be predicted, but maybe... maybe if they weren't locked up, but free, they would have survived. At the very least, Rhea was certain the Insurrection's nobles had failed to provide any real medical help; if the Church had been there, perhaps their healers could have ensured poor Edelgard would not be the last of her family, a status that Rhea was intimately familiar with, a status she emphasized with.

Sometimes, Rhea wondered how different things would be, had she acted.

( Very different indeed; there existed Fodlans in which Rhea had went to war, had decided the debt she owed Wilhelm was too great to let his descendants suffer, and all the world changed. Ferdinand and Dorothea died as children, accidental casualties of Church sieges; Bernadetta's father died, and she blossomed without his presence to destroy her. Gilbert died fighting as a Church volunteer and Annette, mythologizing his memory, sought to become a Church Knight herself; the Tragedy of Duscur was averted, though Lambert still died at the hands of his own treacherous nobility. And Edelgard- who had still suffered at Agarthan hands, and still came to hate the Crest system- came to Garreg Mach, knowing that she owed a dragon her family's lives. But this Fodlan was not of those timelines.)

Rhea felt guilty for not interfering, but this might just be a chance to rectify any mistakes she'd made. An opportunity to weaken House Aegir, the architect of the Hresvelg's loss, or at least keep them from growing stronger.

“ What do you plan to do?” Rhea said, though she had pieced it together herself. Jeritza obviously would be stripped of his titles... but conveniently, he had a relative, didn't he? The Archbishop thought she knew where Byleth was going...

“ Mercedes takes his titles,” Byleth said, confirming Rhea's silent guess. “ Mercedes has a Crest; she is eminently suitable, and was an Adrestian before she fled the Head of House Bartels.”

“ But she is an Adrestian no longer,” Rhea mused. “ I doubt the Empire will want a Kingdom citizen to own Hrym.”

“ Mercedes is willing to swear oaths to Adrestia,” Byleth said. “ I've already discussed this with her.”

“ Depending on why she left the Empire in the first place, that might not be enough,” Rhea said.

“ Her flight from Adrestia is excusable; the reasons were personal, not political. They just wanted to escape the Bartels. Until Mercedes' mother got pregnant with Jeritza, the rest of the Bartels family was... cruel to them. Afterwards, he had no use for them, not once he had Jeritza.”

“ Why?” Rhea asked, though she had an inkling why.

“ Jeritza had a Crest,” Byleth said, shoulders moving in a small shrug.

“ I... see,” Rhea said, understanding what Byleth wasn't saying. About how the Crested heir was what mattered in Fodlan, and the rest of the family had just been... hangers on, at that point... no wonder they'd taken their feelings out on Mercedes and her mother, they would have been seen as usurpers.

( _You did this,_ that voice like her mother's said, and Rhea had no answer.)

Byleth looked at Rhea- no, no, that was insufficient, she  _ stared  _ at Rhea for a second, gave Rhea her undivided attention for a few moments. It was almost disconcerting; Byleth did not blink, for those few minutes, simply held her in her cold-blooded gaze for a moment.

Then her lips turned down, just a little, and she said, “ Are you... ok?”

Her thoughts must have been obvious on her face. Rhea schooled herself back to composure.

“ It is a shame,” she said, trying to keep some distance. “ The Church preaches of the value of Crests, for they are a blessing from the Goddess, but it is improper to take out... _frustrations_ regarding a lack of a Crest on others.”

“ But they do,” Byleth said, and it was like a slap to the face. Rhea kept herself from flinching, or thought she had- Byleth grew concerned, that little inward drawing of her face. She'd seen Rhea's reaction.

“ I... I apologize. Something about this topic bothers you, doesn't it?” Byleth asked.

“ Not... precisely,” Rhea said. “ It is... I feel guilty. Much of this is the Church's teachings, taken out of context.”

“ True, much of it is the Church's fault,” Byleth said, and there was the back of her hand, right after the slap. Rhea looked away, couldn't look into Byleth's eyes when she said that.

“ I... sorry,” Byleth said, and to Rhea's surprise, reached a hand out to her. “ I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'm still... clumsy.”

“ Yes,” Rhea said, and reached for the comfort of Byleth's hand. A novel thing, comfort; she had it so rarely in her life, had so few people she could trust enough to give it.

“ Then I will move on,” Byleth said, squeezing her hand- and leaving it out there, instead of withdrawing it like most would, holding her. Rhea hung onto that connection like a lifeline, and almost missed Byleth's next words. “ Though not all of it is the Church's fault. Most of it is, but there are practical aspects as well.”

“ ...Practical?” Rhea asked.

Byleth nodded.

“ Crests have real value in combat,” Byleth said. “ Though I find it odd that there are no Crests that are useful in non-combat situations. Perhaps the Goddess is fond of warfare.”

( Sothis gave her a glare that only Byleth could see. Byleth smiled, but only on the inside, privately amused.)

“ Something funny?” Rhea asked. She had caught that minute change in Byleth's expression.

Byleth, caught out- she wasn't used to others being able to tell how she was feeling- coughed awkwardly.

“ Apologies. Imagining Sothis as a warmonger, it amused me,” Byleth lied, going with the first thing she thought of.

Rhea thought of her mother going to war, of how terrifying the sensation of an angry goddess passing by had been, and she did not find the idea funny at all.

“ She did go forth sometimes,” Rhea said quietly, not entirely able to stop herself. Byleth squeezed her hand, growing serious once more.

“ I know,” Byleth said, and for a moment Rhea wondered what she meant, wondered if divine memories had filtered to Byleth through her borrowed heart, but Byleth's next words dispelled that wonder. “ I've read up on the Church since coming here. Still, it's not the usual image the Church promotes.”

“ No,” Rhea said. “ We prefer to focus on Sothis' more peaceful qualities.”

That was true, both personally and professionally; Rhea did not like remembering Sothis with blood on her hands, and it did her real agenda no good to have her Church focus on that aspect anyway. War had a way of changing things, shaking up the status quo; for Rhea's goals to be realized, peace had to reign in Fodlan.

( Edelgard had the right of it in this much, at least; a war was absolutely a good way to break Rhea's grip on the continent. Rhea relied too heavily on soft power to directly oppose the hard power of military might.)

“ Regardless, Crests have a practical value to them,” Byleth said, continuing her point. “ The Church's official position is the source of most of their value, but even without it... well, all other things being equal, a Crested individual is stronger than a non-Crested one. Since they crop up in bloodlines, even if the Church did not promote them, Crested children would always be of higher value, simply because they were stronger, and their descendants would likewise have a higher chance of inheriting that same advantage. It's just practical. That's without getting into the reliquary weapons, which further enhance the power Crests bring.”

All good points. None of them anything Rhea had thought of when she began promoting the Crest system.

(She had just wanted to preserve something of her people, even if it was only their stolen blood in human veins.)

Rhea, wanting to leave this topic, spoke up.

“ While this is all quite interesting,” Rhea said, squeezing Byleth's hand, “ I fear we have drifted off-topic.”

“ We have,” Byleth said, without a hint of shame or embarassment. She simply blundered back on track, no questions asked. “ Mercedes will take Jeritza's noble claims, and he can be put into her custody. She can keep an eye on him, and prevent him from killing.”

“ And if he should escape, or manage to kill without her notice?” Rhea asked.

“ Should that happen, Mercedes will raise no objections to him being hunted by the Church,” Byleth said. “ She understands that the Church would demand no less.”

“ We wouldn't,” Rhea agred. “ I would also like to ask that Jeritza's remaining hand be crippled. There is a way to cut the tendons of a hand so that it is hard to grip a weapon. While it will make his life more difficult, he will still be able to hold objects; his grip will simply be much weaker than it normally would be. It will ease my concerns about letting him out of my sight; it will be hard for him to kill if he can barely hold a blade.”

Byleth nodded.

“ That sounds reasonable,” Byleth answered. “ I'll speak with Mercedes, but I imagine she'll agree. If the Church officially endorses her taking over Jeritza's titles, we can present it as a fait accompli to the Empire.”

“ Assuming they'll listen,” Rhea said. “ Things are strained between us.”

“ True, but they aren't so strained that the Church's word carries no weight,” Byleth said. “ I also imagine that some in Adrestia will be eager to sweep all this under the rug. It doesn't do much for the Imperial image for one of its nobles to be a mass murderer, and at Garreg Mach itself, no less.”

Rhea nodded, then sighed. Byleth's proposal wasn't without merit...

Byleth, hearing the sigh, squeezed her hand again. Rhea squeezed it back, still reveling in the simple feeling of that gentle touch.

She couldn't deny Byleth.

“ I... accept your proposal, if Mercedes will agree to have Jeritza's remaining hand cut,” Rhea said, and Byleth gave her something a lot like a real smile.

“ Thank you,” she said, squeezing her hand again before finally withdrawing it, Rhea unconsciously leaning forward as if to chase after her hand before she caught herself. “ Oh, I had another thing I wanted to ask you. Do you know when my father will return?”

Once again, Byleth's ability to leap topics was dizzying. “ Soon,” Rhea said. “ Why?”

“ I miss him,” Byleth said casually. “ I write him, but he travels often, and I'm never sure if my letters are reaching him or not. I need to sit down and talk to him. I know he's busy, but I'm hoping he can carve out a little time.”

Rhea felt a pang of guilt over that; _she_ was the reason Jeralt was so busy...

...It couldn't hurt to have Jeralt stay, just for a little while. She'd gotten to know Byleth in the meantime; what harm could it do?

“ I'll order him to take a break here,” she said. “ Give you a little time.”

“ Thank you, Rhea,” Byleth said. “ That is most appreciated.”

The rest of their meeting passed pleasantly, the talk small things, Rhea and Byleth simply enjoying their time together.

( A seed in a frozen heart poked its first shoots above the stony soil, and drank in the sunlight.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Rhea!
> 
> Note that Rhea could also fit well as the High Priestess, Reversed, but I chose the Hierophant for two reasons: the first is that Seteth makes a good case for being the Upright Hierophant, and I like the imagery involved in the two most prominent dragons sharing a card.
> 
> The second is that, in many ways, Rhea fits the Hierophant better; the High Priestess has a strong element of mystery cults and secrecy attached, but the Hierophant is more directly involved in matters where religious and real authority meet. Rhea, as the Archbishop, is less a nun or miko-style figure, and much more a medieval Italian pope; she's in the guts when it comes to politics, as this chapter should prove. She's in the room where the sausage is made.
> 
> The Hierophant has strong elements of political and spiritual authority meeting in one person, so it's the most appropriate card for Rhea. Remember, gender is less important to the cards than it might seem; there are male High Priestesses, and as Three Houses fondly reminds us, female Emperors... though the Emperor card is not Edelgard's, in this world.


	15. The Last Day of Summer: The Fool and the World, Upright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of Act I! Do read my notes at chapter's end, I got a lot of stuff going on!

**Final Paralogue:**

**End of Act I**

**White Clouds**

**The Last Day of Summer:**

**The Fool and the World, Upright**

Byleth sat in her room at her desk, working through the ever-present paperwork. Tea with Rhea had concluded a couple of hours ago, but some hint of the bittersweet tea lingered on her tongue; and she found it not so unpleasant, she thought maybe she could come to appreciate the depth the sourness brought to the sugar she craved.

( Rhea was not the only one in whose heart roses were growing.)

Sothis, floating about her, poked her head over the side of the desk like a curious, friendly serpent.

_ What are you working on? _ the little ghost asked.

“ Release forms for Lysithea and Ferdinand,” Byleth replied. “ Flayn sent us the final paperwork; in the absence of their parents, it's my job to sign the form releasing them from the Church's care.”

_ Why doesn't the Church just release them? _

“ They need the form to show when, precisely, someone left their care,” Byleth said. “ That way, should the person later be harmed, the Church can point to a time and say 'they weren't in our custody when they were hurt.' It's a safety measure.”

_ Falsified half the time, I imagine. _ Sothis floated up and over the desk, slithering past Byleth, who over the past half-year had gotten used to the little one's antics. She paused her writing until Sothis' long strands of green hair were finally past her desk and she could see her paperwork again.  _ Is it really necessary in this situation? _

“ Absolutely not,” Byleth said. “ But this is how it is done, and in the absence of a good reason to break those rules, this is how we will do it.”

_ Boring, a waste of time and resources both, and everyone involved knows its meaningless, _ the ghost grumbled.  _ Why not just accept that these are special circumstances and be done with it? Ask Rhea to use her influence so you don't have to do paperwork, I'm sure she'd acquiesce. She's obsessed with you, though I can't tell if she's got a bad crush or if there's something else going on. _

“ I doubt the woman who runs all Fodlan is romantically interested in a vagabond mercenary turned professor,” Byleth replied.

_ Maybe she finds you exotic, _ Sothis burbled with a laugh.  _ It's like a romance novel- the lonely Archbishop of Fodlan, trapped by her position and forced to deny her needs, meets a wild, passionate mercenary, finding new love in her embrace... _

“ If she's waiting for my passions, she'll be there a while,” Byleth deadpanned. That was a feat she was proud of; given her usual monotone, it was legitimately hard to deadpan  _ anything.  _ Just another new thing this holy place had brought her.

( Albeit, thinking of Rhea... a warmth. Byleth wondered at it, quietly. Similar to what she felt for her precious students, but different... like comparing roses to dandelions.)

Sothis acknowledged her only with a laugh, the ghost-child curling up around her with her hair serpentine, eventually resting her phantom weight on Byleth's back. Byleth kept working as the ghost grew comfortable, completing the forms, turning them over, finding more work underneath. Some of these she'd have to have Hilda or Lorenz help her with; the duo knew their way around bureaucracy, far better than Byleth did.

She only knew how to read, write, and do math because her father had put her in charge of the mercenary company's money early on, not having trusted the rest of the company with the funds after the last guy in charge of the purse tried to betray them and steal it.

( Jeralt had killed the guy, of course, but it was a _bitch_ to replace him; few mercenaries could read and write, and fewer still were good with numbers.)

Some of this, though, she thought she could handle, though she doubted any other professor in Garreg Mach's history had ever dealt with paperwork like this. Leonie had filed a paper asking the Church to pay for the pure water lost in the attack on Jeritza, arguing that she had used private funds to assist Church goals and should be recompensed; Byleth signed off on it. Rhea would probably grant that one, it seemed reasonable.

The next form was from... Seteth? Byleth checked it twice- yep, a request from Seteth. Something about giving Church property to Lysithea...? Why would Byleth be involved in that?

She signed off on it, pondering the whole while. Maybe because she was technically their guardian while they were here... but then again, why not just write to her parents in Ordealia? Unless it needed doing quickly for some reason.

Byleth shrugged as she finished it. The next piece of paperwork was a request of her own- a funding request to Rhea. More equipment. Swords and arrows and bows and vulneraries. She had money of her own to purchase these things, but once Hilda and Lorenz had shown her the great and awful magic of bureaucracy, she'd realized that most of the other Professors filed requests for this sort of thing. Rhea had just kind of thrown Byleth into the deep end of a pool labeled “Professor”, and Byleth thought that, objectively, she'd done fairly well, given her sudden career change. She'd went in one afternoon from a wandering mercenary to a semi-possessed professor of a Church she'd never heard of, teaching students who were just barely younger than she was.

Well, barely younger than she _assumed_ she was, which was about twenty-one or so. Her father had never told her the actual date of her birth, and knowing what Byleth now knew about her mother... she thought she knew why.

It was something she _should_ have known, all along. It wasn't hidden, precisely. Just... she'd been so empty, she hadn't thought about it. All these facts she'd always had access to, and never put together until she stood atop Sitri's grave...

Her hand trembled, just the smallest amount, barely shaking the quill she held to the paper, as she wrestled with her emotions, these hot, warm, wet things inside her chest.

( She had to talk to him about it. About... her mother...)

Ghostly pressure, something like a hand on her shoulder.

_ Are you okay? _

Byleth drew strength from that touch, and her hand steadied.

“ I'll be fine,” Byleth said, and put her left hand over the ghost's smaller fingers. She was the one thing Sothis could touch; all else yielded, even gravity, but Byleth was firm to the ghost's touch.

( Privately, Sothis was grateful for it; there was _one_ thing she could touch, to keep the terror of her immaterial nature from overwhelming her. She didn't want to think about a world in which _nothing_ was solid in her hands.)

_Good_ , Sothis said, slipping sidewinder style around Byleth, curling around her friend loosely like an amiable anaconda, her hair long and trailing. _Want to talk about it?_

“ No,” Byleth said, returning to her work, the roil of her emotions buried again. Thank the Goddess for her general lack of emotional affect. Some of that deadness remained with her, even as the monastery's holy stones healed her, and she could wield it like a hammer to beat down her burgeoning emotional crises.

She'd need that. Her birthday was coming up, and now that had... overtones for her, that had never been present before. She'd never celebrated it, and her father had never told it to her, but still she knew- just a fact, burned into her skull. Just another of the strangenesses that haunted her. The twentieth of this month, the Horsebow Moon; that was the time in the local calendar when she first entered the world. Two weeks from now.

She didn't know why she knew that. She just did.

It was Sothis' birthday, too. Why did that feel important? Why did she feel like she should _know_ why that mattered? So many mysteries, so many secrets, Byleth and Sothis both were drowning in them; at least the Deer were with them. At least she had Claude, her best friend, her first real friend, who was relentless in the hunt for truth; she had never told him, but he gave the duo hope that, someday, they might yet find the answers to these mysteries.

_In Claude we trust_ , Byleth thought, and Sothis shared a moment's amusement with her.

_ In Claude we trust. _

Though, on the matter of her father, Byleth wondered what she'd tell him first. So much had happened. They'd have to talk about that, too. Letters didn't do it justice... and that was assuming they'd reached him at all, or unaltered. She didn't entirely trust the Church's postal service; not after Claude had pointed out to her Rhea's interest. There were things going on down here...

And yet Rhea seemed so... well, Byleth hated to use her own judgment for other people's emotions... but there were a lot of undercurrents whenever she met with Rhea, and one that stood out was a strangely nervous... earnestness. The little teas they had together... it almost felt like _Rhea_ needed them more than Byleth did...

She shook her head and finished her work. Feeling sneaky and clever, she added an order for the same amount of pure water Leonie was requesting to her usual requests. If Leonie was denied, maybe Byleth would still get her hands on it. Claude would approve; she might tell him of it.

Her little scheme enacted, and feeling inordinately proud of herself- or at least, she thought it was pride she was feeling, having only recently gained emotions in the last six months- Byleth turned the page over. There was more paperwork to be done...

Sothis' whisper hissed through the air.

_ I'm bored. Let's go do something else. _

Byleth gave a quick glance at her remaining paperwork as Sothis twirled around her. Most of it dealt with the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion coming up next month. Byleth wasn't sure it was the best idea in the world to still hold it, what with the Flame Emperor still out there... but then again, the Flame Emperor had, so far, had his, her, or their ass kicked on the regular by a bunch of students, their hired soldiers, and a single semi-possessed mercenary, so Byleth supposed she couldn't blame Rhea for not considering them much of a threat.

( Edelgard felt a moment's sudden indignation in her room, as if she'd been gravely insulted, but couldn't figure out why.)

Maybe the Deer would stay behind and defend the monastery while the Blue Lions and Black Eagles had it out. It didn't make any sense to Byleth for her class to be involved. The Deer represented Leceister, and the Leceister Alliance literally didn't even _exist_ when the real Battle of the Eagle and the Lion happened at Gronder.

She knew that, technically, the Deer were taking the place of the Church forces that had been present... but those Church forces hadn't actually _attacked_. They'd been there primarily as observers, agreeing to legitimize Loog if he'd won the fight, or to re-affirm Adrestia's divine right to rule if he lost.

( That Faerghus existed was proof of who'd won; Loog had been a good general, and the then-Emperor had a talent for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.)

Byleth, for a moment, amused herself with the idea of her students doing just that- taking up observer positions, and crowning Dimitri if he won the fight, or telling Edelgard she now owned Faerghus. She could probably buy some Church outfits, or have someone make some... or get Rhea to give them to her for free. Claude would probably love to play the Archbishop, if for no other reason than that he'd get to wear the hat. There had been male Archbishops before, if only a few; most were women.

( Actually, most were the _same_ woman, but Byleth didn't know that.)

The stoic sword-for-hire had a small smile on her face as she thought of it. Claude the picture of false solemnity in his robes, Lorenz, Leonie and Ignatz in Knight outfits flanking him, Raphael as the Archbishop's herald, the rest of them in nun's robes.

_Heh._

...But her students would hate to lose a chance to win the trophy and bragging rights, so she couldn't. Plus, it was a Church bylaw that it was illegal to replicate the Archbishop's headdress. Byleth kind of got that; it was like a law that you couldn't replicate the crown of a nation. The headdress was too important a symbol to have people just bandying it around.

Still, weird to think about there being a law about it; Byleth wondered who had tried to copy the headdress and prompted its creation. Had there been a false Archbishop once before?

( Unbeknownst to her, the answer was actually yes; the Agarthans had tried, once before. Not why the law existed, but it _had_ happened.)

None of the paperwork was anything that pressing; she still had a few days before it was due. She could take a break. Byleth put her quill back in its pot and stood up.

“ What do you want to do?” Byleth asked. She wasn't the only one who moved when she walked; Sothis couldn't go far from her. If she tried, she dissipated and materialized close to Byleth again, for some unknown reason.

( Just another mystery.)

_Sauna_ , Sothis said. Byleth gave her a dead-eyed glance. _What? I can almost feel the heat when you're in there, and I like it._

“ I suppose,” Byleth said. “ Though you like it too hot.”

_You talk like a Faerghi_ , Sothis mocked back.

“ I'm half,” Byleth said, as she began gathering a change of clothes for the sauna. “ Father is from Faerghus.”

_Might be full_ , Sothis opined. _We don't know where Sitri was from. She could have been Faerghi._

“ I... don't know,” Byleth said. “ Aelfric only said they were orphans. I'll have to ask him.”

Not that it was easy to get a hold of Aelfric. He spent a lot of time on other business; mostly the Abyss, from what Byleth could glean from others. He was apparently the Church elder in charge of liasions between Garreg Mach proper and Garreg Mach's quietly-not-discussed combination black market and undercity.

_Wanna bet your mom was a Faerghi?_ Sothis said with a cheeky grin.

“ You have no money to bet with,” Byleth replied. She packed the sauna clothes in a small traveling bag and clicked it shut. “ Come on.”

_I don't know why you say that, I don't really have a choice,_ Sothis grumbled good-naturedly before twisting off of Byleth and spinning into her usual floating position. Byleth got up and went out her door, making sure to lock it- not that the locks at the dorm were all that great. Byleth could pick them, and she wasn't particularly skilled at lockpicking- nothing like some of the real ne'er-do-wells her father had recruited over the years.

Out the door they went- and Byleth turned right.

_ Hey, what about the sauna?!? _

( If asked, Sothis would have insisted she did not _whine_.)

_I have other business to finish first,_ Byleth answered her in the quiet of her mind, the stoic amused at her possessing spirit's response. _Market first. Then I need to stop by father's office. After that, we'll eat, and then hit the sauna._

_ Fine, fine. _

With Sothis' acquiescence, the duo set off, Byleth taking in all around her with an old soldier's wariness. Past the long dormitories- past Annette and Ashe, standing and talking nearby. From what Byleth could overhear as she passed, the duo were planning on going to see Mercedes later, and see what they could do to support her.

A small, sad smile flitted across Byleth's face at that. Mercedes needed all the support she could get right now, even if Rhea had, thankfully, agreed to let Jeritza live.

Down the steps, past the greenhouse, where Dedue, as ever, worked- but there was a surprise there, little Bernadetta, the purple-haired Eagle who was the rarest student to see outside. She had a strange looking plant with her, something that looked like it had jaws and teeth, and she was stuttering as she spoke with the greenhouse's keeper.

_What kind of plant has teeth?_ Byleth wondered, and Sothis giggled.

_Nature is always teeth_ , Sothis answered. _Always amuses me, how you humans fail to see it. Plants wear their teeth on their leaves and roots, and take bites out of the sun and soil... and somehow you people think they're harmless?_

Sothis laughed, an odd sound, half an old woman's cackle and half a little girl's giggle, too old and too young all at once, maiden and crone both.

_ Still, those plants in there are a bit more literal about it. They eat insects with those sticky jaws. _

_Interesting. Are they dangerous to humans?_ Byleth asked. Sothis chuckled again.

_ Only if they were ten feet taller than they get- and much faster. _

Hmm. Byleth thought about them as she walked past the pond, not really paying attention. It'd be interesting to have plants for guards... you could plant them around a place you needed protecting, and basically forget about them. Of course, you'd have to keep them trimmed back, or they'd overgrow what you were guarding and you'd get eaten by your own defenses... it'd make being a gardener terribly exciting.

_Your mind goes strange and delightful places, my host_ , Sothis said, laughing again as she followed the odd dance of Byleth's thoughts, an endless waltz over absurd terrain.

“ Yo Teach!” came a friendly voice. Pulled out of her thoughts, she looked over at the pond, where Raphael was fishing. “ What ya thinking about so hard?”

“ Carnivorous plants,” Byleth replied. A burst of laughter to her side made her look over, to see Sylvain and Felix, sitting at a table near the steps to the cafeteria, playing... chess?

“ I... why are you thinking about... you know what, no, don't tell me,” Sylvain said, still laughing. “ I don't want to ruin the mystery, this shit's perfect. Carnivorous plants. Professor Byleth, you are the most interesting person at Garreg Mach.”

“ Please ignore him, he's dumb,” Felix snapped, bristling like a wildcat surprised by a dog.

“ Come on, Felix,” Sylvain said, flashing a grin at the dark-haired man across from him. “ You gotta admit, of all the things you thought she'd say, 'carnivorous plants' was just... it wasn't on the list.”

“ Why would I care what she says?” Felix answered, frowning. “ I don't stick my nose into other people's lives. Her thoughts are her own. Also, it's your move.”

Sylvain shrugged, moving his white pawn forward carelessly. As Felix pondered his next move, Sylvain gave a cheery wave to Raphael. “ Hey, Raph! Did you think your teacher would say 'carnivorous plants?'”

“ No,” Raphael said cheerfully, as he wiggled his pole to make the bait on the end dance, trying to attract fish. “ But that's good, ya know? Be bad to be predictable.”

Byleth favored the gentlest giant with a small smile. “ Did you need anything, Raphael?”

“ Nah, just saying hey,” he said, right as a fish lunged for his hook. “ Ooh, got one!”

As Raphael began wrestling with the surprisingly large fish he'd hooked, Sylvain spoke up.

“ So Byleth- heh, Teach, is it?- when you see Claude, tell him I'm trying his strategy for picking up chicks,” Sylvain said. Byleth turned back to him, face blank.

“ His method?” Byleth asked in her flat tone. Behind her, a crowd gathered as Raphael continued to fight the apparently gigantic fish he'd somehow hooked. Ingrid and Ignatz cheered him on, while Petra and Dorothea watched the epic battle with interest.

“ Yeah,” Sylvain said, ignoring all of this as Felix made his move, a cutting dive with a rook into Sylvain's ranks. “ He used a board game to get Edelgard, and I figure, you know, if a dude like Claude can get a Princess with chess as bait, who knows what I'd manage? Besides, I actually really like board games.”

“ I... you do?” Felix asked, not able to keep surprise off his face. Sylvain nodded as he made his own move, a knight crushing the rook, but leaving himself open.

“ Yeah, always have,” Sylvain said. “ Couldn't tell you why, but I guess... heh, guess I just kinda like'em.”

“ I never knew,” Felix said. “ I always preferred more active pursuits.”

“ Yeah, I know,” Sylvain said, stretching a bit as Felix murdered his knight with a pawn. “ Sorry about roping you into this, but I figured if people saw me out here playing a few rounds out here, they'd get used to it, and then they'd start coming by, I'd hook some girl. Smart girls are fun, they always have weird kinks, and I'm kind of in the mood for something strange.”

“ If I'd known you were using it for such frivolous reasons, I'd never have agreed,” Felix said with a glower.

“ Come on, man, everybody knows who I am and what I'm about,” Sylvain said with a smile as his Queen took Felix's pawn. “ You only got yourself to blame if you thought this meant something else.”

Felix's frown deepened. “ I suppose it was foolish to expect anything else,” he muttered.

“ That's the spirit!” Sylvain said with a laugh. “ Besides, tell you what- I'll go hunting with you later, make up for it.”

Felix nodded his assent.

(And he kept the smile that wanted to jump on his face locked tight inside.)

“ I'll tell Claude,” Byleth said... then left, having no particular interest in continuing the conversation. Sothis laughed at the sudden brisk departure and Sylvain's somewhat bewildered look as Byleth simply bailed on him, moving away at high speed to join the crowd around Raphael as he finally tugged the largest bullhead anyone had ever seen from the lake and onto the pier.

As soon as it got up there, the fight continued; the armored fish wasn't giving up, even as it choked on dry air. It launched itself on strong pectoral fins at Raphael, trying to ram its hardened-bone head into the Leceisterman's face, and snapping away with its sharp beak at his hands, trying to get a finger or two. Raphael jerked on the fishing line still hooked in its mouth to pull it close with his left, and with one booted foot on the hard bone plate that made up its skull to keep its gnashing mouth aside, he bent over and gave the thing a massive right hook, right at the soft spot in front of the gills, breaking its spine and killing the beast.

His epic task done, the big man hoisted it over his head with both hands like the trophy catch it was.

“ Woohoo!” he declared as he held it above his head. “ Got the big one! Deer gonna eat well tonight!”

Clapping and cheers erupted, and Ingrid practically drooled looking at that huge fish. Byleth joined in, clapping, though her face was as stoic as ever, a fact onlookers noted with some amusement, but no real commentary. After six months, they'd all gotten used to the professor's unusual nature.

“ Good work, Raphael,” Byleth said, and he grinned at her.

“ Thanks, Teach!” he said, before turning his attention forward to the stairs and declaring, with mock gravitas, “ Now, to the kitchen!”

The crowd followed the conquering hero as he hauled his prize up the steps, and Byleth watched him go with quiet fondness in her eyes.

_I kind of want to eat that,_ Sothis said. _I love fish._

_We'll get some at dinner,_ Byleth told the ghost. That'd be the centerpiece of the Deer's meal tonight, she'd bet. _I don't mind fish._

_Yeah, but you'll eat anything,_ Sothis said. _You have no taste. Remember those fish skewers you had? I still can't get the taste out of my mouth, and I didn't even eat them! Agh, just thinking about it makes me ill... how could you keep going after the first bite?!? They tasted like muddy boots!_

_I have preferences,_ Byleth protested. _I like sweets and don't like bitterness too much. They weren't that bad._

_ I am ashamed to share your tastebuds. _

Byleth left after Raphael entered the kitchen, Sothis floating into the pond and swimming up and down, her hair trailing her, making a pattern on the lake's surface not unlike the looped coils of sea serpents on old maps. Byleth enjoyed the late afternoon sun... good weather for the Horsebow. This was the month when things began to turn towards winter, but this last day of summer was... nice.

Across the pond, past students out and about- past Caspar and Linhardt, talking quietly, she only overheard something about “lack of strategy” and “no tactics”. Hmm. What was that about?

“ Greetings, Professor! Nothing to report!”

Whatever she was thinking left her mind as Byleth's lips twitched into her smile at the presence of her favorite Knight of Seiros- well, favorite that wasn't her father, anyway. The Adrestian-born soldier gave her a big, cheerful wave, which Byleth returned with as much enthusiasm as she was able to muster.

(Meaning she gave him a half-assed wave, but she was trying.)

Good man, the gatekeeper. She... really should ask what his name was, she kept meaning to, she just kept getting distracted with whatever news he had to tell. He was so enthusiastic it was hard not to get wrapped up in what he was saying... but she was determined to ask his name this time.

But just as she opened her mouth to ask, he spoke first.

“ So we've got a new merchant in, but I'm not sure how trustworthy the guy is... he seems kind of shady! He's down there now, selling stuff!”

“ Oh?” Byleth asked, completely forgetting what she was about to ask the gatekeeper.

( Sothis would have busted a gut if she had one, keeping in her laughter, not wanting to alert her host to what she'd forgotten. It got funnier every time Byleth forgot to ask his name.)

“ Yeah!” the chipper watchman said, nodding towards the market. “ He's down there now. I think he's from the Abyss!”

“ Why would an Abyss merchant be up top?” Byleth asked. “ I thought they were... well, there's no treaty or deal, precisely, but generally the Church and the Abyss practice out of sight, out of mind with each other.”

The Knight of Seiros shrugged.

“ No idea! Cause you're right, usually we just both pretend the other don't exist! But he's not done anything actually illegal, and all his papers were in order. In fact, his papers were the most in order I've ever seen! Which is very suspicious. Still, he's not done anything, so I guess he can sell stuff!”

The man shrugged again, and Byleth returned it with a vague motion of her own shoulders.

“ As long as he doesn't do anything, he's free to sell up here like anyone else,” Byleth opined.

“ That's what I figured! Anyway, nothing else going on- though when you next see Lysithea, tell her she is the coolest! If she wants to join the Knights of Seiros, there's a place for her, we all feel that way!”

Byleth smirked and nodded. “ I will. Take care,” she said, and the gatekeeper waved her on.

“ You too!”

Down the steps, to the marketplace, which, as usual, was bustling. Pilgrims flooded in through the gate, animals grunted and groaned as they were put to work hauling goods, and merchants hawked wares at each other. Some red-headed merchant was yelling in a foreign language at one of the mercenary captains, who by their dark skin and tattoos was from Brigid; Byleth didn't know what they were arguing about, but it sounded important. Other mercenaries looked bewildered, not sure what to make of this foreign language in the heart of Fodlan. The beating of the smith's hammer punctuated the bellowing between the angry duo like a judge's gavel.

To the side, in the quieter part of the marketplace, two of the merchants waved at her cheerfully, and Byleth went over to them.

“ Hey, Byleth! How's it going?” Bord said, giving her a big grin. The former soldier, now turned wholesaler, knocked the last bits of tobacco from his pipe before he stowed it away.

“ Need anything?” his husband Cord asked, hands spreading over his array of goods.

“ All is well, and I do need something,” Byleth said. These two were her favorite merchants; her and her students had cleared out the bandits blocking the supply routes these two used a few months back, and they'd been friendly ever since. “ Do you have any liquor?”

“ We've got a wide variety from all Fodlan! You looking for a beer, or something stronger?” Bord asked.

“ Stronger,” Byleth said. “ Strongest you've got.”

“ That'd be this bourbon, then,” Cord said, pointing at a bottle next to him that bore marks of a Leceister noble house. “ But we're not really liquor merchants.”

“ Is there one here?” Byleth asked.

“ Several!” Bord answered. “ Anna sells everything and there's a couple of others who specialize in that sort of stuff. But, well, none of them are in today, and Anna...”

The big, muscular man looked towards where the red-head and the Brigid soldier had gotten quiet, still arguing, but now quieter. “ Anna's kinda wrapped up in something right now.”

“ What are you buying it for?” Cord asked. “ Might make it easier to figure out what you'd like.”

“ I'm buying it as a gift for someone who drinks a lot. It needs to be strong, and I'd like it to surprise him,” Byleth said. Sothis, behind her, put two and two together and figured it out, mouth making a small _oh_.

“ Hmm,” Bord said. “ Strong and strange, huh? Side note- Cord, honey, write that down, “strong and strange”, that feels like a motto.”

“ What would we do with it?” Cord asked, even as he popped a notebook out from a drawer in the stand and wrote the phrase down.

“ Don't know,” his husband said. “ But it feels like we could use it somewhere.”

The duo pondered a moment before Cord spoke up.

“ Any particular tastes?”

“ He's a Faerghi,” Byleth said.

“ Hmm... we don't have any vodka...”

“ Yeah, but she's trying to surprise him, and if he drinks a lot, then he'll have had any vodka we can come up with,” Bord said. “ You'd have to get some weird specialty vodka if you were to surprise him.”

“ True,” Cord said, putting one massive paw-like hand to his chin before a shrug rippled its way through his powerful frame. “ She could try the new guy. He had some liquor, I recall.”

“ Are you fobbing our dear, sweet, innocent Byleth off on that Abyssal fellow?” his husband exclaimed with mock drama.

“ She wants some alcohol that's really strong and really strange,” the other said, shrugging. “ His goods are fine, and the Abyss gets stuff the rest of us can't. They make up the volume of goods they can't move by having more unique stuff.”

“ True,” Bord said, dropping the momentary drama. “ And the professor's a former merc, she knows how this kind of stuff works. So... yeah, go to the Abyss guy, he can hook you up with something.”

“ Where's he at?” Byleth asked. Cord pointed behind her.

“ In that corner. He's extraordinarily noticeable,” Cord said.

Byleth turned around and found Cord was telling the truth. Holy shit, the man was noticeable. He was dressed head to toe in a mage's outfit colored black as night, with a cracked, bird skull-shaped grey mask that had built-in red goggles, one of which was busted and revealed an icy-blue eye underneath and a patch of pale white skin, the kind that rarely saw sunlight. He looked like the world's most dramatic opera's main villain. Byleth half-expected him to pull a mustache out from behind his mask, entirely so he could twirl it.

But, instead, he just... stood there, next to a stall that was mostly covered, hiding the goods. The few goods openly on sale were... well, the first thing she saw was a silvered longsword, and that alone caught the eye. Rare, expensive to make... worth it. Silver-blessed steel could slice through anything. They'd hoarded silver weaponry in the company for the worst fights, and it'd never failed them in a time of need.

Next to the silver sword was a plain-looking ring, with a heavy chain and a lock on it to keep anyone from stealing it, and next to _that_ was the strangest looking fruit Byleth had ever seen, sitting in a sort of bowl made of magically conjured ice. It looked like one of the bitter Zanado fruits, but the red was deeper, fiercer, red as freshly spilled blood, and it was swollen, looked almost like an over-full heart.

Sothis drifted towards the stall, taking special interest in the strange red fruit.

_ I... I remember this fruit... _

_You do?_ Byleth asked.

_ Yes... I... there is a dish you can make with this... I loved it, once. But you need fog berries to finish it... fog... what are fog berries? _

Sothis shook her head, and put both hands to her skull, as though she could force it to recall what she had lost.

_Take your time,_ Byleth whispered in her mind. _Take your time, Sothis._

_I..._ Sothis began, then took the metaphorical and mental equivalent of a deep breath. _Could you... I'm sorry. Would you ask after fog berries? See if I am not just... I almost know this..._

_It's no trouble,_ Byleth thought back, and she meant it, too. Sothis literally turned back time when Byleth asked; she'd do anything to help the little ghost remember herself.

_Thank you_ , the little spirit answered back, turning to her with a smile. Then she shrugged, and wound her way back to Byleth. _Focus on your first task, however._

Byleth walked over to the strange merchant, and on closer inspection, his mask was even stranger; light reflected off of it oddly. It wasn't a material she'd ever seen before, and she wondered what it was made of- not metal, but not anything else she'd ever seen, either. The black marketeer caught her staring.

“ Like my mask?” he asked, laughing in a startlingly chipper tone for someone dressed so grimly. “ Cool, ain't it? Found it in an old vault down in the Abyss.”

( It was there because, two years ago, an Agarthan infiltration unit had the deep misfortune to run into the Wolves. The Agarthans had attacked, hoping to silence witnesses; the Wolves, in response, had slaughtered the lot of them, the vat-born soldiers badly underestimating their opponents. Hapi had killed the mask's former owner with a whispering darkness that left his mask intact, and she hadn't bothered taking it as a trophy when the fight was done.)

“ It's unusual,” Byleth agreed. “ I... what kind of fruit is that?”

_ Byleth, you were here on your own business... _

_Your business is my business, too._

No response in words, though Sothis curled about her, in something that felt a lot like a hug.

“ That's a special something!” the man said with a burbling, infectious laugh. “ Zanado Treasure Fruit, we call it! You know Zanado fruit, and how it tastes like crap? Well, that's because it's immature; we've been eating the unripe berries! Course, only one in a hundred Zanado fruits actually mature. They turn into that little bundle of juicy joy. It's sweet, sweet, sweet! The pulp's not that good, but the juice- ah, it's amazing!”

He chuckled again. Byleth had not expected this... gregariousness, given how the man was dressed. She'd expected... well, Hubert, if she was being honest.

( Hubert, currently practicing his Brigid in the privacy of his room, felt a moment of sinister pride, but didn't know why.)

“ Do you have any fog berries?” Byleth asked.

“ Fog berries... oh man, I haven't heard that term in years!” the man said. “ You mean Magdred Kirsch, I bet. Kinda shimmery fruit, loaded with magic, surprisingly warm? Old Faerghi call'em fog berries because they grow all over Magdred Way and the air in that place is thick as soup most mornings. You can use their juice in place of honey on sorbet, it's really good. Supposed to be lucky for healers!”

Sothis' coils tightened about Byleth for a second.

_ That... that sounds right. There's a dish... I remember how to make it... of all things to remember, why a dessert? _

_Maybe you're just hungry._

Sothis burbled a laugh at that.

“ Do you have any?” Byleth asked. The man shook his head.

“ Nah, that stuff's too common for my stall,” he said. “ Should be able to get it from Bord and Cord, though. It's not precisely rare. Doesn't fit my theme.”

He expanded his hands dramatically.

“ I sell... _mysteries_.”

He chuckled again.

“ Mysteries?” Byleth asked, feeling she should say something.

“ Yeah! I'm the Abyss guy,” the man said, without a hint of shame or secrecy. “ I can't just show up and be like 'hey, I got some apples.' People come here, they want to get something weird.”

“ Is that why you're dressed like that?” the professor asked, and he nodded his head.

“ Abso-damn-lutely! This outfit's the best advertisement I could have! This outfit screams _this is no normal merchant! His wares must be as valuable and strange as his outfit!_ It's branding, is what it is.”

Byleth didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't respond to it at all. Instead, she said, “ Do you have any strong alcohol? Preferably Faerghi.”

“ You're in luck!” the man said, reaching under the cloth and, after a moment's searching, removing a bottle of clear liquid. It was in an odd shape- a big fat tusk, reminded Byleth of paintings she'd seen of Dagdan war elephants. He plopped it down and turned to her, hands making a flashy presentation of the bottle. “ Mammoth Mountain Vodka! One of the oldest vodkas still made in Faerghus, dates to only a hundred years after Loog beat the shit out of those Adrestian bastards and freed his Kingdom. Distilled six times, filtered through birch charcoal, and they use mountain spring water from the tallest of the Barg Mae mountains to make it! This stuff is smooth as water and hits harder than the Albinean mammoths it's named after. Almost as good as Derdriu bourbon and a hell of a lot cheaper.”

“ What's a mammoth?” Byleth asked.

“ Albinean creature, huge shaggy bastards. They've got a nose shaped like a snake that ends in a hand, two of their teeth stick out like a boar's tusks but five feet long, and they stomp about on big old feet that don't even end in hooves, just these kinda fatty pads with big old toenails. Albineans use them for labor and warfare both, hauling goods and killing people, because Albineans have no fear of death and no common sense,” the Abyssal merchant said. “ The Faerghi monk who came up with this drink had fought them in a war, and he'd respected them enough that he took one's head home as a trophy. The bottles are shaped like the tusks of the beast, though smaller- heh, if it was life size, it'd kill you to try to down it. Might do so anyway, this shit's strong!”

_That sounds perfect,_ Sothis said.

_Yes,_ Byleth responded.

“ I'll buy the liquor and the fruit,” Byleth said.

_The fruit, too?_ Sothis asked, as the merchant stated a sky-high price. _He's robbing you, it can't possibly be that expensive._

“ Expensive, but hey, you get what you pay for!” he chuckled.

Byleth counted out the coins.

_I don't feel like haggling_ , she said to Sothis. Not that she'd ever been any good at it; haggling required a vivacious spirit Byleth had always lacked, and still lacked even now. _We'll grab some fog berries from Bord and Cord. Maybe cooking the meal you remember will jog your memories again._

_Worth a shot_ , Sothis said, as Byleth collected her prizes; the bottle went into her bag, the fruit was sealed in ice by the merchant and put into a little metal container.

“ Eat it quick!” he advised as he handed it to her, the chilled box going into the same bag alongside the vodka. “ That stuff doesn't spoil that fast, but it's at peak ripeness right now. It'll give you a sugar rush- or a headache, if you've not got much of a sweet tooth. Strong enough to rattle your teeth!”

“ Thank you,” Byleth said.

“ Tell your friends! High prices, fine goods!” the man said cheerfully, counting the coins.

( _Thank the Goddess that woman has no monetary sense_ , he thought in the privacy of his own mind. He'd robbed her blind with that transaction, and was glad to have done so. He didn't like being up here, but the Abyss was in dire straits; they needed money. They wouldn't have risked being up-top if they weren't so badly off, usually they could subsist off more clandestine activities... but the endless waves of treasure hunters and mercenaries they'd been dealing with were wearing away at their resources. Yuri had ordered a few of them to work openly for a little while, generate some business and make some quick coin; this sale had put him ahead of schedule. He'd be able to go back soon, disappear before anyone important in the Church knew he was up here. It wasn't technically a violation of any rules... but why risk angering the Church? The Abyss had enough foes.)

As Byleth turned around to get the Magdred Kirsch from her usual merchants, her eyes caught a flash of pink coming in the gates. A closer look showed the pink was Hilda's hair, plastered to her head from sweat.

_Wh_ _at?_ Byleth and Sothis thought in unison.

There she was, noble-born and most beloved daughter of Goneril, with a common tradesman's carrying yoke on her back, hauling cut firewood in large buckets alongside Cyril, Garreg Mach's infinitely capable worker. She didn't notice Byleth, too focused on her work, Cyril looking more surprised than anyone at her assistance and not a little bit uncomfortable.

Byleth shook her head as the strange duo passed her, but decided to leave it be. She'd ask Hilda later.

She finished her business in the marketplace, buying the fruit needed for the meal she'd cook later, hoping it'd go well with the bullhead gratin Raphael had no doubt asked the cooks to prepare. She said goodbye to Bord and Cord and went up the stairs, heading to the offices upstairs.

Once there, she went to her dad's office, currently locked. He'd given her a key, and she used it, entering an office that had the low scent of disuse that clung to places left empty too long. Paperwork and a few odds and ends sat on his desk, but nothing much personal; her father carried his self inside him, he did not spread it into the rooms he inhabited along the way. What was personal to her father was either in his horse's saddlebags or inside his heart. There were no paintings of Byleth, for example, in the room, though she knew her father loved her.

( _Did he?_ The errant thought came, remembering a mother murdered by her daughter, and she felt Sothis' regard come creeping in, wrapping her worries up in knots. _He loves you, Byleth. Believe me._ )

She pulled the fine vodka from her bag, and put it on the desk. She stole a blank sheet of paper and his quill and, with ink slightly sticky from sitting still too long, wrote **From Byleth** on the paper, and left it sitting under the drink.

Then she left, locking the door behind her.

( She would not see his smile when he got back, and found the fine drink on his desk; she would not see the fondness in his eyes as he read the note, nor feel the warmth in his heart. And she would not hear his soft sigh... but she _might_ hear the prayer in his heart when she dreamed, Jeralt's sad prayer wishing Sitri had been here, to see her daughter, and be as proud of her as Jeralt was.)

As she popped out, she nearly ran into Hanneman. He'd been walking down the hall, paying no attention to anything except a strange jar he was holding, full of water and strange little black things, looking like stretchy slugs, that swam inside.

“ Oh! Apologies, professor!” Hanneman said, recovering quickly. “ But good timing as well! I wish to discuss something with you.”

“ Oh?” Byleth said, as Sothis floated closer to his jar and peered in.

_What's he doing with leeches?_ Sothis wondered.

_What's a leech?_

_Little bloodsuckers from the rivers of the tropics_ , Sothis answered. _Common in Brigid. What's he doing with them all the way up here in Fodlan?_

“ Yes! I would like your permission to start experimenting! I have an idea- well, come, let's go into my office, we can talk more privately in there.”

( Well, Hanneman _thought_ they could talk more privately. In truth, Rhea had installed spyholes in the ceiling of all the office rooms, which she, Seteth, and a few trusted human servants used constantly- though no one was there at the moment. It was a testament to Hubert's incredible talent for subterfuge that Edelgard had not been caught yet by the paranoid clergywoman.)

Byleth, her tasks for the day done, followed along with him, as Sothis bemoaned the interruption.

_ Saunaaaa..... _

_You'll live_.

_ That's very rude to say to someone who might be a ghost! Jeralt taught you better manners than that! _

_You know as well as I do that he did not_.

Once inside, Hanneman shut the door, then eagerly hopped around to the other side of his desk. Despite his age, Hanneman was, in his own way, the youngest person at Garreg Mach, his energy and excitement stronger than a teenager's; just watching him made Byleth feel old and tired. He put the leeches down on his desk, and Sothis floated over to look at the unusual creatures.

“ So!” he said with delight as he sat down and withdrew a few papers from a locked drawer in his desk. “ I have hit upon a plan. I think I can bleed the false Crest out of her!”

“ I... please explain,” Byleth said. “ I assume you're talking about Lysithea?”

“ Mister Riegan and Miss Goneril informed you, then,” he said. Byleth nodded. Claude had told her they'd brought Hanneman in. “ Good. I want to keep you up to date on what I'm trying. I'm going to do some experiments to see if it's possible... but here's my idea.”

He pushed a paper to her, full of notations and equations and half-formed thoughts... as well as a few pastry crumbs, he'd been eating while working on it. Byleth read it, failing to understand most of it, while Hanneman talked.

“ Lysithea has two Crests. One, the Crest of Charon, is natural to her. In fact, I think the only reason she survived... what was done to her...”

Hanneman shivered. Byleth would accuse him of drama, save that Hanneman was the most honest man at Garreg Mach; the horror and revulsion in his body was genuine.

“ Was because she had a Crest, already,” he said. “ Her body was, very slightly, more used to a Crest than her siblings were, so when the Adrestians forcibly implanted a second one, her body had more of an idea of what to do with it... though it still came at catastrophic cost.”

“ You say... Adrestians? Do you know who it was?” Byleth asked. Hanneman shook his head.

“ Not truly,” he admitted. “ But the Empire is obsessed with Crests, and it's only logical to assume that, after House Ordealia was assailed by the Empire, it was an Adrestian group that murdered Miss Ordealia's family. The masks were almost certainly to hide their identity... but I would be willing to bet good money that those were Adrestians under the masks. I... knew someone who had much the same happen to her, but more openly. Many are those who are caught for having a Crest, and tormented...”

He was quiet for a moment, looking at something on his desk; Sothis floated over, to see it.

_A picture of a woman_ , she informed her host. _She looks like Hanneman... not a mother, too young. A sister, I'd bet, or a close cousin._

After a moment, Hanneman restarted. “ At any rate, to confirm my hypothesis about her survival, I looked into what scant records exist about her before the experiments. They indicate she was the only one of her siblings to bear a Crest. The records are badly muddled- I suspect Imperial interference- but they couldn't destroy the records here at Garreg Mach. The Church _does_ attempt to keep track of Crests, after all, though given Fodlan's size and how slow communication is, it's a doomed effort. Noble, but doomed.”

“ How do leeches play into this?” Byleth asked.

“ Glad you asked!” Hanneman said. “ The other Crest that was carved into her marrow... it's unnatural. Some research from a few centuries back indicates that certain species of blood-drinking animal have a knack for removing magical influences from the blood; unlike, say, a wolf or a bird, they can absorb magic and digest it without growing tremendously in size or suffering any of the other side effects that create what is colloquially called a 'monster.' Their nature as blood-drinkers supercedes any side effects in that blood; in magical terms, being a blood-drinker puts them “above” magical blood, so they simply digest it instead of being affected by it. While there are multiple species available, leeches are the most easily put to medicinal use.”

“ You intend to drain the other Crest out of her,” Byleth said, following along with his thoughts and what she understood of his paper. He nodded as she put it back down on his desk.

“ I believe I can use the research I've found to breed a species of leech attuned to specific energy signatures. They will then, if attached to a person, instinctively devour only that blood which has that signature, leaving the rest of the blood alone. Combined with infusions of blood with the signature of her natural Crest, I believe I can get her body to reject the implanted Crest entirely, casting it out of her body. Normally, that would be fatal, but the leeches can drain the resulting surge of foreign magic out of her veins... and leave her with nothing but the Crest her body has had since birth.”

“ What do you need from me?” Byleth asked, feeling her version of excitement (which did not include a faster heartbeat, for obvious reasons.)

“ Your help gaining the young lady's permission to experiment on her... and the same from young Lorenz,” he said. “ He has the Gloucester Crest that was implanted in her. I'll need him to attune the leeches.”

“ Do you need me to find someone with Charon's Crest?” Byleth asked.

“ No,” Hanneman said. “ As luck would have it, we have one right here at the monastery! Catherine bears the Crest.”

...Oh. Sothis rolled her eyes.

_ Of course. I knew this was going too smoothly. _

“ I... am not sure how willing Catherine will be to assist me,” Byleth said, thinking of the big woman's hard eyes, of the gathering of Knights of Seiros who agreed with the swordswoman that Byleth had “undue influence” on the Archbishop.

“ Nonsense!” Hanneman said. “ It's to save a life, I'm sure noble Catherine will assist. Whatever personal issues you two have, I'm sure she'd help. What does she have against you, anyway?”

“ I.. don't know,” Byleth said, and meant it. She didn't know.

( She had not seen the way Catherine's fists clenched when Rhea's eyes softened in Byleth's direction, she had not felt the terrible pressure inside Catherine's chest that grabbed hard on the Knight's heart when she heard that Rhea and Byleth took private teas together. She did not know of late nights spent in the sparring room, Catherine breaking training swords and practice dummies and herself, collapsing to the floor over-exerted and half-shaking, wanting to puke, wanting to cry, head throbbing with the rush of pumping blood and the singular question _why doesn't she love me?_ Byleth, who had never been jealous before, and so could not understand the terrible green in Catherine's eyes.)

“ Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's a minor matter,” Hanneman said, blithely leaping over non-Crestology problems in his way. Those were other people's wheelhouse; he'd deal with the issues he knew how to resolve. “ I trust entirely in your diplomatic abilities, Professor Eisner. Meanwhile, I am going to be busy vigorously breeding.”

Even Byleth had more social sense than to say something like that. She gave him an odd look as Sothis grinned at them both, and after he saw the concern on Byleth's face, Hanneman chuckled at himself.

“ Apologies! I meant vigorously breeding the leeches together. I will need a great many of them. I'm having a large glass case hauled in by young Cyrus later. They'll have pride of place on my shelf! But do get young Mr. Gloucester's permission for me to take his blood, if you would. I've got to feed the leeches something, after all! Though now that I'm thinking about it, I wonder if they have preferences for Crests... or if Crests make the blood taste any different? Shame I can't ask them. Perhaps I could judge it based on how fast they drink it. But then if leeches have individual preferences, I'd never be able to tell that from a species-wide preference, not without a control group...”

He went on in that vein, muttering, asking questions of no one.

_He's even more socially inept than I am_ , Byleth thought, with an air of wonder.

_He's usually better than this,_ Sothis commented with amusement. _I think he's just so excited about what he's doing that he's just plain not paying attention to what he's saying._

“ Professor Hanneman,” Byleth said, “ If that's all, I'll take my leave of you now.”

“ Oh, of course!” Hanneman said, startled out of his reverie. “ And... please, do not tell young Miss Ordealia that I am already testing a hypothesis. I would hate to give her false hope. But at this early stage... this may go nowhere. The plan with the leeches might entirely fall apart, or it turns out they take everything, or the solution might be present and beyond my ability to reach.”

Byleth nodded. Her thoughts turned to her littlest Deer, angry little Lysithea, and wondered what she'd look like with black hair, healthy and hale. “ If this plan works... will it give Lysithea her life back?”

“ No one knows but the Goddess,” Hanneman said solemnly. “ Even if we remove the parasitic Crest, there is no guarantee that it will restore her health or years to her. The damage done may already be too extensive.”

He gave Byleth a small smile. “ Though take heart; I think it's likely. If the Crest is draining her consistently, then removing it will remove a great strain on her system. If nothing else, that _should_ make her life easier. Given her youth, perhaps she might even recover some of the body strength she's lacking; she's not too late for one last growth spurt, not yet. She won't ever be what she was supposed to be... but she can be some of it, and more is always better.”

“ A chance is better than none,” Byleth said, and Hanneman nodded.

“ Spoken like a true Leceisterwoman.”

“ I'm half-Faerghi, actually,” Byleth replied. Hanneman quirked an eyebrow.

“ Really? I assumed from you taking up the Golden Deer you were from the Alliance. What's the other half?”

“ Don't know. She was a nun,” he said. Both Hanneman's eyebrows shot up.

“ Well! I'm sure there's quite a story there. I won't pry. That's your business,” Hanneman said.

Byleth got up to leave, but before she went, gave Hanneman her tiny smile.

“ Thank you, Hanneman,” she said. “ For everything.”

He gave her a big smile back.

“ It's what I do, Byleth. Here's to hoping we can save your brave girl! After she stopped the Death Knight, it's the least we could do!”

Byleth left, taking one last glance at the sleek, black, squirming leeches, that despite their slimy skin were the best hope she had for saving Lysithea's life.

_Weird to think of them as things of life_ , she said to Sothis as they headed out into the hallway. Sothis, undulating through the air above her, hair trailing her like twin tails, burst into gales of laughter.

_ You humans! So smart, and so stupid, somehow at the same time. Brilliant people, clever, you do so many wonderful things, but you get such strange notions in your heads. Like the plants. Why would the leeches not be signs of life? Have you never seen a birth, Byleth? All life begins in the sweat and stink and hot, heaving pressure of sex, of mating calls and filthy ruts and stinging pollen in the wind; then it starts again in birth, which is messy, gross, and soaked in blood. No, the leeches are the finest avatars of life I've ever seen; wet and messy and sloppy. That's  _ _ **life** _ _ , my sweet host. Death and destruction, now  _ _ **those** _ _ things are pure and clean and simple. Life and Creation are dirty, messy, and complex. Consider the potter, making from clay his wares; the way the wet clay splatters on him, gathers under his fingernails, consider that to make it stay in the shape he wants he must subject it to blazing heat and sticky glaze. Think of the weaver, who threads her needle in and out of her cloth, whose blood soaks in every time she accidentally pricks herself, how much she must sweat and work over her creations. Why, when I made my children, I... _

Sothis stopped dead. Byleth turned to her, standing still in the hallway.

_Sothis?_

_I'm a mother,_ Sothis said, and her figure, for a moment, it tried to shift, become older, an adult and not the child she appeared to be. _I'm a mother. I have children- I had children, I... Byleth, I'm a mother!_

A small smile on Byleth's face. _You remember?_

_I don't recall details, but... little faces, I loved them, Byleth, I was a mother!_ Tears gleamed in Sothis' eyes, as some piece of her self came back to her. _I... there was a city, in the shadow of a canyon... a little nest, just for us. I see waves of sea-green hair... like Rhea's, like Seteth's and Flayn's... my precious children, Byleth, I was a mother to so many._

_Maybe they are descended from your children,_ Byleth suggested. Sothis shook her head.

_ Maybe. That... it feels... almost right? Not quite wrong? I... Byleth... there was a city, once. I ruled it. I think I was their Queen. _

_That would explain the throne and your general attitude._

_You wound me_ , Sothis said, with amused annoyance. She blinked her eyes, and phantom tears ran down her cheeks as she refocused on these new sensations. _I remember... I think we've even seen it. Zanado... where those bandits ran... I know why I remember it, now. That was my home. I... I just don't remember... I can recall standing over it, once. Seeing the sun sink below the horizon, and I distinctly recall thinking... thinking it was so beautiful. That I'd... I'd done right by my people. That... that sounds like the thoughts of a Queen._

_Would it help if we returned?_

_I would bless you forever,_ Sothis replied. _I... we don't have to go right now... but sooner is better. I don't want to lose this feeling._

_We'll set off in a few days,_ Byleth answered. _If I recall, reports said the place was usually full of monsters, which was why it was strange Kostas would go there... we'll take everyone, clear the place out, the Deer can treat it as a training exercise in monster fighting. It'll give Lysithea and Ferdinand a chance to warm back up after their convalescence, too. And we'll explore it, thoroughly. See what jogs your memory._

_Thank you._ Sothis twirled in the air again, and seemed surprisingly... shy. _Byleth, I don't say this often... but I'm glad that I have you. You've been tremendously accommodating to me, and to the strange circumstances I've forced on you. I know having me in the background of your thoughts must be a burden, but I'm eternally grateful to you for your kindness._

_It's no burden,_ Byleth replied. _Without you, who would harangue me every day? I don't know what kind of person I'd be without you, but I bet I'd be much less interesting. And... without you... some of my Deer would be dead._

Byleth smiled at the woman only she could see.

_So come now, let's go eat, then hit the sauna._

_ I bow to your wisdom. _

-

Making the dessert- which Sothis called Treasure Fruit Nectar- didn't jog any more memories, but it proved Sothis did remember something; Byleth, having never read the recipe, found her hands making it perfectly. The sweetened treat went startlingly well with the deep savory notes of Raphael's bullhead gratin, alongside fine Allied wine, and the Deer's feast that night was the talk of the cafeteria, particularly Ingrid, who watched the feast with a look like a hungry kitten.

( Claude, who found the Treasure Fruit Nectar a bit too sweet for his taste, traded it to Edelgard; she delighted in the dish,

Byleth made sure that those Deer who were absent received some of their fine meal, sending their portions with a few Church servants; two to Ferdinand Lysithea, and one to Mercedes.

Byleth would have her apprentice, Dorothea, keep watch on Jeritza while they were gone. A good girl, Dorothea was; fun and lively, and she seemed to find Byleth's flat affect amusing. She'd enjoyed teaching her of light magic, and keeping Jeritza stable was an appropriate task for her skill level; he'd stabilized, and Doroteha was a surprisingly dab hand at the spellwork. It'd be good for her, to have a long-term project.

When dinner was done, they had the sauna to themselves for a time, and went back to their room refreshed. Outside their door, they found they had received correspondence, in official Church letterhead.

Byleth reviewed it as the duo entered her room. It was a formal request from Flayn, that she be allowed to join the Golden Deer; her words indicating she thought she'd feel safer amongst them, and that she wanted to keep an eye on Ferdinand, even though he seemed fully recovered. 

There was a note attached to Flayn's request, in Seteth's handwriting, asking Byleth to deny his sister, as a private favor to the Church elder. He promised he'd pay Byleth back when he could, but he didn't want Flayn joining the Deer.

Byleth read both, and considered the two requests. She considered Ferdinand, too, whom her magic could not save... whom Flayn had been able to save, and restore to his old self again. All Byleth's horses and all Byleth's men, but Flayn had put him back together again...

Byleth signed off on Flayn's request to join, with a little smile, and crumpled up Seteth's note as an afterthought, throwing it away into the trash.

( And one of three became part of the Herd.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going on hiatus for at least a month; I will be posting one Interlude in between, probably in two weeks, based on fan request. Y'all have really wanted to see some of these timelines expanded upon, so I thought I'd do a short vignette on the one most people have asked about: Rhea invading Adrestia to save the Hresvelgs.
> 
> Short teaser from it:
> 
> And it was known in Adrestia that Emperor Ionius and the Crown Prince, Edelgard, all attended church with the passion of the truly faithful.  
> ( Of course they did. When Rhea's sword broke open the chains that held Edelgard and her siblings in their cell, all their prayers had been answered.)


	16. Interlude I: An Answer to Prayers, Bishop's Opening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First part of the Interlude is up now! I know I said two weeks, but given it got broken up into chapters, well, here I am.
> 
> Alternate History: Rhea Invades Adrestia. Strap in, kids.

**Interlude**

**Part the First:**

**An Answer to Prayers, Bishop's Opening**

Rhea stared at the words in the letter on her desk, but they did not change.

It was a report from Enbarr, from a Church spy. Insurrection in Adrestia... the Hresvelgs, deposed... the children, disappeared. The entire Imperial family, taken out, for daring to try to centralize, to oppose two centuries of slow corruption. Ionius was not a strong Emperor- was quite average, in Adrestia's long history- but he had sense enough to try and corral the forces eating away at his nation, and the nobles who had grown used to the privileges such decay granted them had risen up in force.

...Hresvelg... _Wilhelm._

Rhea looked down at her desk, but she saw only Wilhelm, her old friend, his courage, his humility, his awe when she gave him the gift of her blood. Wilhelm, the living proof that not all humans were monsters, her servant and her first Knight, the human who had convinced Rhea that she did not need to exact vengeance on all humanity for her people's deaths. Humans had killed her kind, yes; but it had been humans who helped her avenge them, too. Humanity as a whole was not to blame for the sins of Nemesis.

Wilhelm, who had stood with her until the end, who had helped her kill Nemesis and let the soil of Tailtean drink his corpse dry, who had made the nation they'd jointly founded into something great. Her friend, whose descendants would almost certainly be killed by the Insurrection, to make sure the Imperial family could not rise again.

She... she wanted to save them. But it would mean war- war by the Church, not so beloved in Adrestia these days, against the Empire. She might not be able to win. A war, just to help a now-dead human friend... it would weaken her Knights if they fought alone. It would weaken her Church, and the Agarthans still slithered in the darkness of Fodlan...

But Wilhelm had been her friend. She could count the true friends she'd made over the centuries on both hands and have fingers left over.

... _He was my friend..._

His descendant, the current Emperor, had so many children, and they would all die, if she did not act. Or, worse, would be married off, to live long lives as pets of Insurrection nobles. She... she should stop that, or she _felt_ like she should... she should save them. She owed her life to the first Adrestian Emperor, even now, she had owed him a debt when he died. Should she not repay it?

Still, it had been so long... not just since Wilhelm, but long since the Church had been replaced in Adrestia with the Ministry of Religion under House Varley. Decades, even. The Church was not beloved in Adrestia; she would be fighting her way through enemy territory, and how many in the Church would feel slighted, that she would go to war for an Imperial family that had thrown her faithful out? That she would go to war for an Empire that had no faith, that the believers should die en mass for the non-believers? A hard thing to stomach, for her people, for these humans she had tricked into obeying her for their own good.

( For what Rhea _thought_ was their own good.)

_Wilhelm..._

A coin flipped in her head; Rhea, before a choice.

A moment later, the coin landed. Rhea reached for her quill, licked the tip with a suddenly-forked tongue, and wrote a letter to Ludwig von Aegir, the Insurrection's leader, demanding he back down, release the Hresvelgs, and return to his lands at once, or face the wrath of the Mother Church. She signed it with a flourish, sealed it, and wrote other letters, asking the Alliance and the Kingdom for help in case of war.

(Give this Rhea this much credit; nothing was different in this timeline than any other, save that she made a different choice. No change in circumstances, no difference large or small, just the free will of one woman, and it was sufficient to shove the wheel of time in a new direction.)

-

Thales sighed as he looked at the Church's letter, dated a week ago, thrust into his hands by a furious Ludwig von Aegir. It had arrived by pegasus courier just this morning, threatening the goddamn dragonspawn's direct involvement.

Well. This threw a wrench into his plans.

He _had_ initially planned to abscond with Edelgard to Faerghus- mostly as a cover to taking one of his most loyal and useful Agarthans up there to kill and replace Cornelia, the court mage, as part of a plot they were working on to get rid of the King of Faerghus and destablize the country- but with the Fell Star's church getting so directly involved... hmm.

“ We need to begin the project _now_ ,” Ludwig growled. “ We need to break them, make one useful, a perfect little Emperor, subservient to our needs. Then we can kill Ionius and replace him with a more pliable child! If we do it fast enough, we can subvert this... _idiocy_ from the central church. If we have a new Emperor on the throne who supports us, what can the Archbishop do? Even if they somehow succeed, we can preserve our gains here if we create a truly perfect Emperor... a backup plan in case the Church manages to defeat us. Which is by no means certain, but no reason not to plan.”

“ Why not just kill Ionius now and put one of his children on the throne right now?” Thales asked. That seemed more reasonable to him, though he had to admit, some part of him just wanted to run for it. The church of that alien god entering the fray changed the equation here. Perhaps the Agarthans should cut and run, and leave the Insurrection out to dry...

“ The entire point is to make an Emperor who can lead Adrestia to greatness,” Ludwig growled. “ One bearing a great Crest and a superior nature... one who is young, and thus moldable to greater wills. If we kill Ionius and replace him with one of his children without ensuring that child is greater than they should be, nothing changes, the cycle continues, and Adrestia is stuck losing territory and falling apart as it has for centuries. But an Emperor made perfect... yes, that would be a fine weapon to wield, for a man such as myself.”

Ah. There it was. Ludwig knew he did not have the power to be the great Emperor, so he dreamed of making that Emperor his servant...

Thales could not help but sympathize. He dreamed of making such a weapon himself. He had higher goals than the mere hunger for power that dominated Ludwig's animalistic brain, of course; he wanted to restore the true humanity, Agarthan humanity, to their rightful place in the sun... but there was similarity there, and the Agastya of Agartha was favorable to the proposition.

Besides, he didn't think there was any reason _not_ to grant the subracial's request. Even if the Fell Star managed to get to Enbarr before they finished the experiment... well, they'd gain some valuable knowledge, if nothing else.

“ Then we shall begin immediately,” he said. Ludwig nodded and shook the hand of the man he thought was Volkhard von Arundel.

( Pity Volkhard von Arundel; there were vanishingly few Fodlans in which Volkhard avoided meeting his end at Agarthan hands, few in which he did not die skinless and in great pain. He had been a pious man, donating much to the Church out of faith alone, a good man and a good brother to Patricia, and did not deserve what happened to him... albeit in a few Fodlans, at least, he did dodge the knife, and in at least one, led the charge into Shambhala itself.)

In addition, Thales would send a few messages out. Agarthan kidnappers would get a hold of Baron Ochs' daughter; leverage for later, in case this all went south. Faerghus plans would be put on hold, at least until they saw who would win.

Thales leaned back, and pondered the changes in the world around him, wondering what else would be different, in time.

-

One week later, in an underground prison beneath Enbarr, Edelgard prayed.

She had nothing else left. She didn't even have clothes; after the bird-masked woman had ripped them off so she could cut her skin, she hadn't bothered giving her new ones. Back into the cells, with the cold and the blackness, her flesh half scabs, the rodents chasing the droplets of warm, salty blood that dripped from her fingers.

( Normally the Agarthans would have been a bit more careful... but time was of the essence. The Fell Star's abominations were coming. Thales had ordered his top researcher to be quick about her work, and not to be too worried about the state her subjects were left in... and the shrike-skulled scientist had been _delighted_ to obey.)

Her and her siblings huddled together, body warmth and each other's touch the only comforts they had; what a mere month ago had been the heirs to an Imperial throne were now just scared, humiliated, and wounded children, shivering in the dark, listening as rats, finished lapping up their scattered blood, scrabbled closer to their forms, driven back only by desperate, panic-driven kicks.

Edelgard prayed. She had only a child's hope that the Goddess would hear her. In the arms of her tortured siblings, shaking from her own torments, aching and hurting, Edelgard could do nothing else, save cry; her tears and sobs mingled with the words she whispered, so softly the siblings pressed tight to her could not hear them.

Edelgard wept in the darkness, and prayed.

-

Two weeks had passed since Rhea sent her letter, as she desperately gathered her forces, aware that Ludwig could send only one reply.

That reply arrived on swift pegasus wings, and it was exactly what she had expected and feared. He mocked her, and the Church, and called her a toothless old serpent. The Insurrection would not bow. Adrestia would not serve the Church.

She read the letter, took a deep breath... and sent Seteth to find her old sword, preserved all these long years, preserved for... for today, as it turned out, for this day when she would go to war again, and for Wilhelm's own bloodline.

That day, Rhea stood on the balcony of Garreg Mach, holding that sword high, and announced that the Church was going to war to her roaring faithful.

( And thus was Edelgard's prayer answered, though that answer would take time to reach her.)

-

It wasn't as simple as that, of course.

This invasion would be done by the Church alone. The Kingdom and the Alliance had not been willing to go to war just to deal with an Adrestian matter they considered to be internal; but they _had_ been willing to allow their people to volunteer.

Thus did Rhea call for aid; she asked for volunteers, poison to fill the fangs of the Church, and prove to Ludwig von Aegir and his Insurrection that the faith still had teeth. And answer came, from every land under the sun; droves of fortune seekers came to Garreg Mach, waves of people ranging from the basest commoners to Crested nobility, all forming an army that, in time, would be named the Hammer of the Mother Church, which slang and abbreviation turned, eventually, into the Mother's Hammer.

( Some part of Rhea was always privately amused at that; her mother might have liked that, she thought sometimes, as she gazed upon the bizarre mixture that made up her volunteers. Sothis always had a sense of drama and fun both.)

Allied villagers, Kingdom nobles, scattered Adrestians whose loyalty to their Emperor outweighed their distaste for the Church... even a few foreigners came, hoping to fight in the shadow of that silver and green flag, and earn themselves a place in the xenophobic continent's society.

Most were just normal people, driven by zealous faith or a desperate hope for glory or sheer love of battle; but some proved there was more to them, and their names decorated the reports Seteth sent Rhea of the growing mob that was gathering at Garreg Mach. A young man from the Alliance named Balthus, heir of House Albrecht, who was a dab hand with healing and fisticuffs both. Baron Gustave Dominic, from the Kingdom, who marched alongside them because he believed it was the right thing to do. Lord Lonato's young son Christophe, who dropped out of school to serve the Goddess at the urging of his friend Cassandra, and whose honor was so unimpeachable that he was already being regarded as the darling of the militia. A red-headed merchant from parts unknown, named Anna, who seemed to be everywhere at once, who was there to get rich, and so open, honest and cheerful about it that even Rhea found it hard to hate the money-grubbing little opportunist.

But two recruits stood head and shoulders above the rest, two rose to leadership amongst the vast horde of her volunteers. The first was Hanneman von Essar, once an Adrestian nobleman, now a professor at the academy of Garreg Mach, who immediately signed up to go to war, who seemed almost feverishly eager to fight his former countrymen. Hanneman, who told Rhea in a passionate, _furious_ rant of what had been done to his sister in the name of Crests, when she asked _why_ he would go to war, who spoke of how he hoped only to get his hands around the throat of the nobleman who'd done it- for he was part of the Insurrection, one of the lower nobility stooges the Aegir family had used so well.

Rhea had acquiesced to his request to join, after that. For her dead family she had changed all Fodlan; she would not deny another his righteous revenge.

Thus set free, the scholar vanished; in his place stood Hanneman reforged, who would, someday, be called the Hammer's Head, shortened, in time, to Hanneman Hammerhead. This chance to avenge his sister transformed the gentle Crestologist, made him a military man par excellence, fervor and intelligence compensating for his lack of experience. It was Hanneman who took the Hammer in his hand, doing everything he could to whip the rag-tag army into shape, enforcing discipline and training on the mish-mosh of recruits who had come straggling in from all over the continent.

But he was not alone in this task. The second of the great recruits was Cassandra Rubens Charon, who was almost Hanneman's perfect opposite; she was a big, youthful girl to Hanneman's slim, aged man, easy-going where he was driven, happy to take orders where he seemed determined to lead. The girl had been eager to serve Rhea, to repay the Archbishop who had saved her life when she was still a Blue Lion, and so, though she would have graduated that year, she dropped out of school to join the volunteer militia.

Having once been Hanneman's student, she slipped easily into the role of his right hand, and followed him upwards as he ascended to the top. She joined his aged fervor with youthful spirit, and enforced his decrees amongst the rabble, ensuring anyone who challenged Hanneman's self-claimed authority would meet the end of her gauntleted fist. She was endlessly loyal, both to Hanneman, and the Archbishop they both served in turn; so loyal, in fact, that it superceded her loyalty to her kin. When her noble House demanded she return, and bring the family weapon with her, she cut ties with them rather than abandon either Rhea or Hanneman; her allegiance was to the Church. With Thunderbrand in hand, a sword that, once, had been an antler of one of Rhea's kin, she was Thunderstrike Cassandra, as loud and as deadly as lightning from a clear blue sky.

And thus, to Rhea's own surprise, it was her very school that produced the duo who, jointly, were her right hand, commanding the great horde in her name. If there was anybody all the disjointed elements of the Hammer listened to, it was Hanneman, because not listening to him meant either he or Cassandra would kick your ass, and on such a practical basis did discipline form. Hanneman appointed lieutenants- mostly those Seteth had already identified as the best of the gathered recruits- and with their help he got the great majority of the volunteers performing drills, and learning to move as one.

More did Hanneman do to prepare them than anyone, even Rhea herself, who found she was perpetually surprised by the scholar; she had not known he had such depths of passion in him, and as far as the old dragon could tell, the man simply didn't sleep. It would be worrying if his results were not regularly so impressive. Why, it was Hanneman who informed Rhea of how to supply them; she'd intended to give them spears, the most common of all weapons, but it was Hanneman who proposed that they wield their namesake.

Hanneman had realized that the mob lacked the coordination to put spears to their best use; no, they were better off wielding an equally simple, but less formation-dependent, weapon. Hammers worked on everything, and using a hammer was instinctive; swing until it hit someone's skull.

There was more to it, of course- the figure-eight pattern that could knock a weapon aside and counter in a single smooth action, the jabs that set up heavier blows, tricks with hilts and choking up on the handle- but the militia didn't have time to get more than basic training done. Warhammers were nearly as cheap as spears, and armor meant nothing to a good hammer blow, an important consideration when fighting Adrestians given their obsession with heavy armor; even if the metal held, the body underneath suffered from the force of the blow. Spears were almost universally better... but they required the soldiers to fight in formation, and a mob of volunteers had trouble maintaining the discipline.

So Rhea signed off on it, and the standard became a warhammer and a shield. Hanneman got his lieutenants teaching them to fight, and himself studied his gathered forces, hunting those whose potential for magic shone forth; and he taught magic to the most promising ones himself, taking country boys and city girls and the vast swathe of humanity between both extremes and making mages out of them.

Thus did the Hammer take shape, ordered into being by Rhea, and forged by the will of one man.

As the Hammer grew, the Knights of Seiros gathered, heavily-armored counterparts to the nearly naked mob, and what tension might exist between them was handled ably by Alois and Aelfric, who met regularly with Hanneman and did what they could to keep the Church's twin military arms on an even basis.

Garreg Mach was a war camp for a time, smithies ringing out as weapons were made, the forests full of the sound of saws and axes as lumber was cut and shaped for siege engines and wagons. Rhea's gold was spent, and turned into iron and horses and food and supplies- and in a short time, Rhea had her forces.

Despite everything, though, the situation was grim; she had welcomed all comers to her volunteer army, but even the vast numbers who had come, added to her Knights, were still not enough to outnumber the Adrestians. In fact, her forces were outnumbered three to one; Adrestia owned half the continent of Fodlan, and the Insurrection had done heavy recruiting in preparation for their coup. Worse, they had managed to steal most of the Adrestian military, save for those parts of the Imperial army loyal to Houses Bergliez, Nuvelle, and Ochs, who had chosen their oaths of service over the lure of opportunity and sided with their Emperor. Various smaller Houses contributed what they could to the cause, but those three were the ones opposing the Seven.

In her war room at Garreg Mach, Rhea reviewed the situation with her officers. Bergliez' loyalty was no surprise, and they were by far the mightiest of the loyalist Houses, engaged in open warfare with Aegir and Varley both in the east of Adrestia. Nuvelle was more surprising, having always been an isolated and separate House... but in their Emperor's time of need, they proved true, and lent their considerable magical might to the Imperial cause, throwing the west of Adrestia into contest with Arundel and Hevring both. They were not holding out nearly so well as Bergliez, but their magical might was stretching their relatively meager forces farther than most would expect.

House Ochs, too, stood beside Nuvelle in the west, but they would fall soon; the House was relatively weak, and a disastrous early assault on Arundel had gotten their best and brightest killed; their forces had routed in disarray, and now an Arundel army was already besieging their home estate. They would fall soon, their only reward for loyalty being their own deaths.

On the international front, no help was coming. Emperor Ionius IX had written both the Kingdom and the Alliance when the Insurrection began, and received the same reply Rhea had; they would not get involved in what was, effectively, a civil war. Rumors held that he had also asked for foreign aid, that he had written Dagda, Almyra, and even Brigid, asking them for assistance... but Rhea did not think that likely. He had no connection to Almyra, and Adrestia warred often with Brigid and Dagda both.

( Unbeknownst to her, Ionius IX had, in fact, sent a single letter out to one foreign nation, begging an enemy he had fought once before to save his family's life, an enemy that Emperor Ionius IX had always believed, despite their enmity, to be a man of honor. The eyes of a dark-skinned king had read his desperate plea, and considered his words, the wise mind beneath the crown watching Fodlan to see if a chance to act would arise.)

Rhea would be doing this alone. So many troops against her... she couldn't hold all Adrestia, they'd crush her and her troops...

...But maybe she didn't need to hold Adrestia at all.

Spies and rumor reported that there were many forces loyal to the Emperor who had not risen up yet. Most feared the Insurrection would crush them, like they were crushing Ochs; others, who did not fear for themselves, instead feared for the Emperor's life, the Emperor held captive by virtue of House Vestra's betrayal. They would not move for worry that the Emperor would be killed if they acted.

If Rhea could save the Emperor, and maybe knock one or more of the Seven out of the fight, weaken the Insurrection... they'd rise up.

Hopefully. Not certain. Maybe they'd stay silent, keep their heads down, and acquiesce to the coup. But... in her guts, Rhea didn't think so. The Emperor was popular- if he wasn't, he'd never have tried to pull the power centralization scheme that had triggered all this- and his people loved him. If he was freed, they might follow his lead; and the Seven would have trouble killing him before the Church could save him. Trying to do so would turn the common populace against the Insurrection entirely, something no leader could afford, and especially not the Seven; they were the richest and most arrogant nobles in the country, and the common people hated them. Only Hevring had a popular reputation, mostly because they were patrons of healers, and they were the least loyal members of the Insurrection to begin with, only convinced to go along by tremendous diplomatic effort and pressure on Aegir and Arundel's part.

...It felt like the old days, coming up with a war scheme, Seteth at her side. Shame that Indech was too hurt to contribute and that Macuil thought it a fool's game to get involved with humans... but where those two were not with her, a passel of humans joined her at the table, Hanneman and his lieutenants alongside Alois and Tomas, and between the two Nabateans and the humans, they sketched out the plan.

One factor above all dictated its shape- speed. Speed was of the essence; she wished she had more time to train troops, but that risked the loyalist Houses being defeated, and all their efforts rendered moot. The Church had to move, _now_ , before the Insurrection was unstoppable.

Speed would help in another way, too; while her forces were badly outnumbered, they were also all concentrated. The Insurrection's troops were scattered all over Adrestia. If they moved fast- if they did not stop- then they would have more troops in any one area than the Insurrection had, and thus despite the numerical superiority of the Insurrection in theory, the Church would have it in practice.

It was going to be a nasty war, short and brutal; her army was less some deadly, cutting wind, and more of a rolling boulder, smashing through opposition. She couldn't slow down, not until they were already besieging Enbarr, and even then she feared they would have to storm the city- which always came at a staggering cost.

And so the plan ended up being almost absurdly simple, at least in concept. A straight shot, from Garreg Mach to Enbarr, with one early detour to relieve pressure on one of the loyalist Houses. There was no way to save Ochs; they were too deep in enemy territory, too far away, and too far gone. Nuvelle, which was in much less dire straits, was too far to the West to assist... but Rhea could attack Varley, and if she could destroy them, Bergliez would be able to turn all of its attention on Aegir. This would have the dual benefit of weakening the Insurrection and also preventing Aegir from assisting its allies in Vestra during the siege of Enbarr.

And if they were lucky, crushing Varley would encourage resistance everywhere; House Varley was far from the weakest of the Seven, was right behind Aegir and Arunedel in terms of strength, and losing the third strongest House would have repercussions for the entire Insurrection.

Plus- as Alois pointed out, with some amusement- crushing Varley would send quite a message. It was House Varley, after all, that the Empire had appointed as Ministers of Religion when the Church was thrown out; what better way to announce the Church's return, then smashing flat their Imperial replacements?

They'd have to pass by Varley's estate anyway to get to Enbarr; she might as well destroy him along the way and not worry about being attacked from behind when the siege of Enbarr began. That would take everything she had.

( In private, Rhea clutched her dragonstone. She wouldn't use it unless she had no other choice; her draconic form had gotten... strange, in the last few centuries, like it was _degenerating_ somehow, her inner turmoil becoming outer decay, and she feared that each use would be the last time she would be herself.)

Not that it would be so simple. Taking Varley was no easy proposition. The lord of Varley was a beast, but he was no fool; his home was a fortress, his troops well-trained, and the terrain dry, dusty and forbidding to outsiders. He had the best cavalry in Adrestia, almost as good as Faerghi, alongside the more usual Adrestian fare of heavy infantry and mages.

Yet she had no choice. She was committed to the war. As Edelgard and her siblings suffered and prayed, the great twin armies of the Knights of Seiros and the Mother's Hammer began to march, and Rhea merely prayed she had made the right choice.

( She asked her mother for forgiveness if she had been wrong. Somewhere in the depths of the Alliance, hidden from Church eyes by her father, the child Byleth felt a tug inside, but ignored it, as the emotionless girl ignored most such things.)

-

It took a month to travel the distance that, in peacetime, would have taken even an army only a week.

Varley contested them everywhere, save Gronder Field. He avoided it, as aware as Rhea was of the place's history, and refused to allow such a symbolic place to host a battle. A Varley victory at such a place would destroy Church morale, but, conversely, word of a Church victory at Gronder would have demoralized the entire Insurrection. The place had too much history to do less, and Varley did not appreciate the gamble.

So everywhere but Gronder, the Church faced the able horsemen of Varley. Adrestians were not usually known for their horsemanship, but Varley had the best cavalry in the Empire, and cavalry was one area Rhea was sorely lacking in. Only her Knights had significant mounted forces; the Hammer was almost entirely infantry, what few horses the volunteer army had being used to haul goods in supply trains.

Those self-same supply trains were raided constantly, Varley trying to starve them out, and he forced them to go slow; speed risked their supply trains being overwhelmed, goods stolen or set aflame, men lost in probing attacks that would turn into full-fledged assaults if they sensed weakness. Reaching Varley's fortress was a grueling process, and Rhea was only grateful that, due to a history of peace between the Church and Varley, there were no castles or other fortifications between Garreg Mach and Varley's home estate.

But in time, they reached his central keep, where Varley himself resided, and Hanneman asked that the Hammer be committed first. Rhea, hoping to save her Knights for the deadlier battle at Enbarr, agreed to let the former scholar take the lead, and prayed that the untrained horde would be enough.

Hanneman was given two weeks to break House Varley before Rhea would step in- a reasonable amount of time, in the old saint's opinion. A month to Varley was a bit behind schedule... but not fatally so. If Hanneman could win this in two weeks, they'd be right on track.

The next day, Hanneman's forces surrounded Varley's estate.

-

Hanneman read over his plans in his command tent one last time, a thin breeze in the air whispering past him. A proper Adrestian spring was upon them, which meant that it was thinking about rain.

Hanneman prayed it held off. His army was barely held together at the best of times, and rainy weather improved no one's disposition. These last two months had tempered the thing he had forged, the sloppy getting killed by Varley's raiders, those who listened to him and practiced discipline living; but they needed a victory to finish the Hammer, they needed the blood of their enemies to quench the hammer's molten head. If they lost here today, this great volunteer army, whose morale was growing thin, would rout.

But if they won...

It had taken all morning to get the formations set up. It had grated against him, but given the general disarray of his own forces, it was a testament to the lieutenants he'd chosen that it was done as swiftly as that; Anna in particular had proven a dab hand at getting people moving, and she'd defended their supply caravans with the tenacity of the truly greedy. Christophe had led by example, the man something like a living saint, people in awe of the sheer _good_ that rolled off the man... even Baron Dominic, the least charismatic of his main soldiers, managed to get things going with his quiet dignity.

Still... Hanneman had a plan. He had a foolish plan that might not work, but if it did... if it did, then he'd take House Varley not in two weeks, but in _one day_.

If it worked. If it worked... then no more would the militia be wide-eyed recruits, but blooded soldiers, and with a great victory to their name. This would be a real battle, not desperate, fleeting skirmishes, and such a victory would harden them into steel.

Here, the Hammer fell, and Hanneman didn't know what would break when it hit- its target, or itself.

Still, stalling did not answer that question, either, so he looked up at his right hand. Cassandra, once his student, now something to him like the retainers he had once had in his nobleman days, who stood strong and brave before the small desk that made up most of his furniture. A small cot lay nearby, and the only private possession Hanneman cared about lay next to it- a framed picture of his sister.

( In those days, the angriest person in all of Fodlan was Hanneman, but to his credit, for all his rage, he was in control; it did not burn him up, but propelled him to greatness, great wings of fire to fly him to victory.)

“ Is everything ready?” he asked his lieutenant, unintentionally slipping into his professor's tone around her.

She nodded, forgetting to salute. He'd gotten used to it. She did enough good work that he wasn't going to hack at her for forgetting a few formalities here and there.

“ Mages are ready. So's the secondary attack under Baron Dominic,” she reported.

Dominic was a good man, and he kept good discipline with his troops; it was why Hanneman had picked the Faerghi for the task of distraction. “ Is your squad ready?”

“ Ready and able!” she said, putting a hand to Thunderbrand unconsciously.

Good. Nothing to it then... except to do it.

Hanneman took a deep breath, and then looked at his sister's picture one more time.

“ Let's go,” he said, and Cassandra preceded him out the tent flap.

All around them, the army made itself ready, tension an undercurrent in the air, thrumming like the embers of a fire uncertain of whether it should start. Nerves... fear... excitement. That last, that was what he needed, he needed _passion_ , he needed _courage_...

He prayed they held together. So much of this was out of his hands. He focused on what he could do.

He looked at Varley's fortress in the distance, his clever mind running over the architectural and military facts of the place, and his own troops as well.

Varley's fortress was circular, though given his area's relative dryness, he didn't have a traditional moat. Instead, he had a deep ditch full of spikes, because Varley had both time, shovels, and sadism. His walls were well-built, full of archer's slits and towers, including heavy ballista on towers set every so often along them. A single drawbridge existed, guarded by two ballistas on each end, which themselves were covered by a ballista each, ensuring that a withering and deadly storm of heavy bolts would attack any force daring to assault the front door. You'd have to be stupid to do it.

...He hoped that there was an exception for clever plans in there somewhere. This was a horrifying test for a first-time general... but Lady Rhea was reserving her Knights. She'd come in if the Hammer failed, since they'd at least soften up Varley... but he owed the troops under him better than to serve as mere arrow fodder.

He clenched his fist. No. He wouldn't fail them. They'd take the whole damn thing. Varley was dead _tonight_. He turned to the mages.

“Send signal to Dominic to begin,” he said. A mage nodded, her big hat flopping, and with a wave of her hand and complex wording, she warped a messenger away, to Dominic's forces. Warp... such a simple spell, and so few people could use it. Hanneman's entire strategy was going to hinge on that spell; thank the Goddess he had so many people who could use it. It was a testament to the spells' incredible rarity that, of the thousands in the Hammer, Hanneman's testing had revealed _twelve_ who could cast the spell. Fireballs could be hurled by hundreds, as could wind and ice and thunder... but teleportation, in an army this size, was limited to these twelve, and they found it so complex and difficult to cast that they couldn't use it that often.

Even now, the part of him that was still a professor wondered why... so much chaos in the spell, perhaps most humans couldn't channel that kind of energy and randomness without breaking...

But the general took over, as he saw Dominic's forces, located on the far end of Varley's massive fortress-estate, begin their assault. Dominic had all four catapults they'd managed to build before getting here, though only three were currently firing, his troops operating them just outside of ballista range. He also had both of the Hammer's siege towers, the solid, weighty contraptions rising high, looming over the soldiers like bizarre giraffes.

From where Hanneman stood, the entire army, even the three great catapults and the two siege towers, seemed so small... he watched as their arms sprang up, and the big barrels they were hurling flew through the air, most sailing over the walls, bursting into green, powdery vapor. Poison, the kind of thing you started a long siege with to weaken the defenders and, if lucky, ruin food stocks.

Varley, familiar with such tactics, would settle in; he'd recognize the attempt for what it was, stock up his troops on antivenin, and wait. Poison cask tactics weren't that dangerous if you had antivenin; back in the day a few centuries ago, they had been almost unstoppable, but then some alchemist came up with an almost universal poison cure-all, and to add insult to injury, its formula was so simple any hedge-witch could make it. Thus had the green powder lost its teeth in human warfare. Hell, the Church mostly used poison for monster hunting these days, monsters not being common customers of apothecaries.

Varley, seeing this tactic, would assume they were here for the long haul. He would guess that the army at his gate was not there to assail it- for that would be a fool's gambit- but there to prevent him from charging out and attacking the forces hurling poison at him. Poison would bombard him for a period of days, trying to run him out of antivenin before they ran out of venom, intermingled with fire casks, trying to burn him out, and then they'd switch to other tactics.

Why, Varley was probably delighted by this tactic. He could afford to wait, after all. Why, he might even have been _hoping_ they'd do this. A long siege gave the forces he had out in the field opposing Bergliez time to come home and attack the Church from behind; the longer they waited, the more time his superior forces had to come here and catch them in a pincer attack. Varley was probably chuckling to himself, and thought them amateurs.

He would concentrate his forces on the other end; he'd leave troops at the gate, of course, but he would figure the attack wasn't coming from there. For all that the drawbridge was a genuine weakpoint, the sheer amount of defense on that point would make an attack suicide for most armies, especially a mostly armor-less mob.

That, at least, was what Hanneman was praying Varley would do. What he was hoping, desperately, his foe would do. Most armies _would_ find the gate suicide.

Most armies didn't have twelve people with warp. Maybe that was enough. Maybe not.

Two hours passed. They were the tensest two hours of Hanneman's life; two hours, in which Dominic steadily, slowly bombarded Varley, and the purple-haired archer general, with any luck, grew complacent. Two hours, in which Hanneman ran down the list of his combat spells; razor winds and the sniper-shot thunder of thoron, his go-tos, spells he could cast without conscious thought. Healing spells, which required a little more attention, but were still mostly muscle memory. He could cast both types many times without need for rest, without overtaxing himself.

Then there was his ace- the spell that would damn near kill him to cast, which he wasn't _really_ able to use, not without hurting himself. The secret weapon he'd studied when he knew war was coming, which he'd only successfully cast a few times before, in practice grounds, and which left him shaking every time.

Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it.

Those thoughts occupied him for only a time; eventually, Hanneman had to think of other things. He wondered when Dominic would commit the hidden catapult; would he time it with the switch to fire? He'd left the decision up to the Faerghi.

Half an hour later, the three catapults switched to launching burning barrels of pitch. Dominic did indeed commit the fourth catapult at that time, hidden in the woods until now; it launched at a different target, a single squad of Dominic's men operating it one quarter circle to the west of his main forces, again outside of ballista range. Of course, setting it up had taken twenty minutes, so Varley had lots of warning; that was fine. Let Varley think that to be their trick; let Varley think them incompetent, playing at general, trying to trick him with simple things, easily circumvented.

Circumvent those tactics Varley did; even as the blazing barrels were launched, mages on the walls shot cooling ice and disruptive wind at them, knocking the barrels off course or putting them out. Most splattered harmlessly outside the walls, and the stray shots that got in were quickly put out by fire brigades, working in smooth, well-oiled unison.

Three more hours passed as Dominic's bombardment continued, and Hanneman's nerves hummed like violin wire pulled too tight. Three more hours, as the afternoon turned late, Dominic switching up the barrels at random, fire and poison and poison and fire, all countered, Varley's troops growing complacent as the assault continued. Five total hours of relentless bombardment, and Hanneman, who could not see inside the fortress, saw only that there were, after five hours, fewer troops standing guard at the gate's four ballista posts. Men were pulled off for fire brigade duty, perhaps, or an early shift so they could sleep now and stand guard tonight, Varley getting sloppy as he settled in for a leisurely defensive fight.

Or maybe a trick. Maybe Varley knew what Hanneman was trying, and he was deliberately putting fewer guards up front, while secretly keeping them nearby. Maybe he knew what Hanneman was planning. Maybe he was getting ready to kill his troops, and Hanneman would fail his sister here, and his troops too. Hanneman knew the bombardment couldn't go on _too_ long or Varley would suspect something was up; it couldn't be too short, and not too long, and no one knew what the sweet spot in the middle was. Was it two hours? Had he missed his opportunity? Was it five hours, and he should attack now? Was it seven hours, and this was too soon?

Maybe.

Maybe _not._

He would not know, not now, not until... not until it was too late.

Hanneman placed his bet, and swung his Hammer down, hard.

“ Now,” he said. The mages, not the best disciplined, scrambled for a second, having forgotten, in the long wait of hours, what their job was; panic ran through Hanneman as a bizarre fear ripped through him that the delay would doom the assault, but then he felt the familiar jerk-tug- _pull_ of teleportation.

And suddenly he was atop the battlements, directly before the ballista, and two extremely confused guards, one of whom had been drinking from a bottle in her hands.

He moved first, after what felt like ten years of hesitation, but amounted to less than half a second. His hands were up and the simplest spell came to him, slicing wind, his hands pointed at both guards; the first guard's head practically leapt off her neck, bottle falling from a masterless hand to shatter on the floor, and the second was shoved over the tower's side even as the wind sliced him open, falling with a scream, intestines trailing him like a gory comet's tail. Hanneman cursed, that guard's scream was going to alert the whole castle but it didn't matter, move, move, _move!_

More shouts and screams from the other ballista towers. Christophe, Balthus, and Catherine had been committed; in his peripheral vision, poor without his glasses, he caught glimpses of blurry flashes of Thunderbrand's blade, of Christophe's spear lashing out, of Balthus picking up a man and beating another to death with him. From beneath them came yells of surprise at the sudden assault, but Dominic's bombardment had not ended, and so the sound of barrels bursting in the walls and men using magic to wipe away poison and the coordinated yelling of the fire brigades putting out flames mingled with the warning shouts of the guards at the gate, and it delayed proper response for a few precious seconds.

Behind Hanneman, the sucking, twisting, _ripping_ sound of warp magic behind him echoed, as more troops were teleported in; but he paid no attention to that. He ran, ran over to the side that faced the great drawbridge's wheelhouse, catching glimpses of more troops warping onto the other ballista platforms, all of them grabbing the great ballistas and turning them to face the inner courtyard.

He ignored that, instead looking at the drawbridge system, whose blueprints he had studied so hard. The drawbridge was a classical Adrestian design; two great wheels of chains, hauling the bridge up with a fairly simple pulley system, the kind of thing that worked when you needed it to. Varley had favored such simple, practical designs; the man was a monster, but he wasn't stupid.

The chains were great fat things of magically-warded steel, hard to pierce even with a sacred weapon, and the wheels they were wrapped around were equally well protected. The drawbridge had even better protections, and had been soaked in pure water recently for added strength. Catherine would have trouble hurting any part of that system with Thunderbrand; it was impossible for Hanneman to do anything to it with his magic.

But- and he had been _betting_ on this, remembering how the drawbridge of his own family estate had been constructed- the wheels were themselves mounted on the sides of the ballista towers with heavy wooden stakes, and _those_ were _not_ protected.

Hanneman sent a bolt of shearing wind at that connection, straight down the tower, praying his aim was true. It was; as the razored wind sliced into the wooden stakes and broke them, the heavy wheel of chains on his side of the gate was suddenly unmoored. The drawbridge's weight tugged it forward, and half the gate fell as the other half tried to hold, the wheel on that side groaning in protest as it tried to contain the bridge's entire weight by itself. It jerked forward before it stopped, the wood tying it to the ballista tower screeching in protest, and Hanneman hurled lightning at it, even as Varley soldiers ran forward to try and grab the broken wheel, some still shouting in confusion, wondering how things had descended into chaos so quickly.

Thunder echoed as Hanneman's thoron finished, deafening the troops around the wheels, and partially stunning Hanneman- there was a reason you didn't hurl lightning magic at close range, or indoors- but the force of the thunderbolts of thoron did their job; the wheel was still immune to magic, but it wasn't immune to basic physics. The thoron blast did it no harm, but the force of impact lifted it up, bounced it back, and as it bounced forward again the wooden bolts, already fighting the gravity of the drawbridge's heavy weight, finally broke, the wheel joining its brother in being dragged forward as the drawbridge finally fell.

The sound of the drawbridge slamming down was like a bell tolling doom, heavy and loud.

Outside, Anna, waiting for this, leapt atop a nearby wagon, and her voice carried, high and soprano sweet, to the entire gathered horde.

“ **For the Church... and for treasure! Charge!** ”

With a burbling laugh, the army rolled forward, a wave of weapon-bearing faithful.

But inside, Hanneman, shaking his head to clear it, knew only that he heard a resounding bellow from outside over his own stunned condition; as it cleared, he had to hope Anna was coming. He had other business to attend to.

As he turned, reality drifting back in from the sides of his deafness, he saw that his troops had done their job. They'd turned the tower's ballista around, and were already firing, not outside at Hanneman's troops but _inside_ at Varley's, going after the mages defending the walls. With each bolt that slammed into each robed back, the defenses keeping the catapult bombardment outside weakened; surprise let the ballista crew get off three shots each before anyone attempted to stop them, and the ballista crew, handpicked by Hanneman for their former experience with such weapons, did not miss.

Other ballistas fired at fire brigades, weakening their ability to resist the fire that Dominic was still throwing into the place, or attacking the ballista of the other towers, wrecking the siege weapons and preventing them from defending the fort from their treacherous brethren.

Varley's troops panicked, not expecting to be attacked by their own weapons; the less-experienced soldiers ran about looking for cover, or tried to return fire at the ballista towers in a haphazard fashion. Hanneman hurled wind at anybody smart enough to do that, and a few tossed javelins from another tower showed Christophe was doing the same.

Some smarter soldiers ran into the ballista towers and tried to assault them up the stairs; Hanneman had prepared for that, too, and stood atop the trapdoor leading to the ballista tower's roof, killing anyone who tried to come up the ladder. The smartest soldiers went up the ballista towers that were not currently held by Hanneman's forces, and tried to charge over the ramparts; those were Balthus' problem, as he held the ballista closer to the rest. Hanneman assisted him by hurling lightning when he had clear shots, sniping with the booming bolts, and between his magecraft and Balthus' own incredible strength, it was enough for these few desperate moments.

The sound of the militia's approach grew louder and louder, a rumble like an approaching avalanche, but it grew an agonizingly slow pace; Hanneman had known it would take time for them to reach the drawbridge, but he hadn't realized how long seconds _were_ when you were under attack, how combat stretched out time. Still, the troops inside were so disorganized, so surprised, that Varley's forces had yet to mount any kind of determined defense to the oncoming charge. If that continued for a few more vital seconds, the militia would be inside, and it would all be over...

But, of course, as soon as Hanneman had that thought, he realized he'd jinxed it. He heard shouting, shouting with the distinct undertone of _command._ He risked looking down into the courtyard- there, a flash of purple hair, Varley himself with a great silvered bow in his hands, gathering soldiers to himself at the open gate, forming a hasty shield wall. The corridor was small, and the militia's numbers wouldn't matter in such a tight space; the long spears and Varley's archery would be telling. They might stop the entire charge dead. The ballistas couldn't shoot down into it, weren't angled right...

Hanneman hurled a wind blast, and saw it skip off of Varley's shoulder, with the distinctive gleam of pure water reflecting the shot. _Dammit_ , Hanneman thought, as he ducked behind one of the tower's crenellations, avoiding Varley's return shot. There had to be something he could do, something big enough it could punch through the protection of purified water...

...Ah. The spell.

The casting time was long; he'd need to start the spell in cover, then stand up and aim it just as it finished, or Varley would surely put an arrow in his throat. His fingers fumbled the start once, twice, three times before he got the pattern right, the dull roar of the rushing milita ever-growing as they jerked through magically established patterns. He twisted his tongue around the strange words that guided the spell's shape, but even as he did so, he felt the strain as it tugged on the magic inside him, it was too much, he started to black out.

It staggered him to cast this spell in a practice field, when he had used no other magic; now, after all his castings? Impossible. His heart threatened to burst in his chest. His eyes shut of their own accord, and his muscles trembled, his fingers slipped again. Why was he even here, again?

The answer floated up inside his mind, and he saw it clearly with his closed eyes. His sister. His sister, who had been lively, fun, wise, a million things that some up-jumped _fuck_ had tossed aside, all to use her as a womb to breed a legacy with, he had never seen the _person_ there, just what was between her _legs_ , he had murdered his sister, murdered his _sister_...

Rage welled up inside him. Rage that was not uncontrolled wildfire, but tightened down, constrained to the thinnest possible point, where the fire stopped being red and began to burn bright, blazing blue, where flame did not burn so much as _cut_.

And suddenly Hanneman found it was not hard to cast the spell, not hard at all.

He drew the eye as he staggered suddenly to his feet, hands no longer slipping, not casting his spell so much as preaching it into existence. He swung upward and whirled about to face the growing knot of Varley's soldiers, extolling the universe to his side, voice booming, and Varley loosed an arrow at him but the wind was swirling around Hanneman in reaction to his rage and instead of his throat or his heart it simply sank deep into the meat of his left shoulder. Hanneman ignored it, to _hell_ with it, he felt no pain, just a rising sense of righteous _fury_ and despite the broadhead lodged inside him he lifted his arms high to the sky as he finished his spell and...

With one last shout of spellcraft, Hanneman bade the sky open.

The clouds parted, moved to form a circle as though the Goddess had poked her finger down from above, and following that channel came a single blazing rock, a meteor from the space outside the world, a piece of the stars torn raw and burning from the firmament above to fall to Fodlan at speeds indescribable in human language. The heat of its passing melted stone and set wood aflame, and even the great shielded chains found their protections insufficient against the hammer of the skies.

Varley had time enough, as the meteor fell, to stare in stupefied horror, right before it landed directly atop him.

The meteor hit like a divine hammer. Varley was vaporized on impact, nothing of him left at all. The troops gathered with him were obliterated as well, men and women reduced to ashes and melted chunks of steel that had once been armor and weapons. A storm of burning, blazing dust was kicked up at the impact point, obscuring the gate, until one of the remaining Varley mages used a wind spell to clear it.

He cleared it just in time to see Anna, the first milita soldier to reach the drawbridge, pass it, and even as he tried to fire at her, she threw her sword into his throat.

Behind her, the wave of troops roared down the open drawbridge and flooded the fortress. Varley's remaining troops were drowned in a storm of hammerblows and shield bashes. Each of Varley's soldiers was worth five militia... but there were ten militia for each of them, and so they died, pulverized beneath their boots.

Hanneman, in the tower, knew almost none of this; when his meteor hit, he had collapsed, rage and adrenaline carrying him only so far. He leaned against the tower's crenellations, and sighed in relief as he saw his troops taking over. They even held to the plan; a messenger was warped to Dominic to tell him to stop the bombardment, and his troops rolled up in the siege towers, taking the remaining walls with the Baron himself in the lead, axe and shield swinging. A dual assault from both sides, troops swarming everywhere, over everything, killing everyone who did not surrender.

Hanneman stayed where he was, aching and exhausted, until Cassandra found him, and got the healers to fix him up. Hanneman spared his second a smile before allowing himself to pass out, his great task done.

And that was how the might of House Varley was undone by the schemes of a schoolteacher.

-

Most of Varley's troops died, so confused and surprised by the sudden turn-around in the fortress's fortunes that they didn't have time to surrender, only to get surrounded and thwacked to death. A small group of pegasus knights escaped, and the lackluster archery of the militia only got one of the trio, the other two escaping into the setting sun.

A few did manage to surrender, including a group found in the underground bunker beneath the place, which was also where Anna, using her instincts for treasure hunting, located Varley's wife and daughter once the place was taken... along with a staggering variety of riches of all shapes and sizes.

( Anna had almost been too overwhelmed to react, fanning herself when she realized how much potential gold she was sitting on top of.)

Discipline mostly held in the militia, the rag-tag mob mostly channeling any wilder tendencies by exhibiting a habit of stealing everything that wasn't nailed down, which Cassandra had encouraged. Not all was fair in love and war- only the monstrously stupid and disgustingly sadistic believed that- but theft and soldiering had a long history together, and she saw no reason to break up that relationship.

Besides, fuck Varley.

There were a few discipline problems, particularly once they found the wine cellar, but only one was serious; a few militiamen got it into their heads that they could take a few of the prisoners and rape them. Christophe caught them, and Cassandra hung them, naked, above the gates, and the public shaming and execution discouraged any further attempts along those lines.

The Church wasn't exactly going to go easy on their prisoners of war- they'd be transferred to work details, digging latrines, graves, and various other ugly grunt work that nobody liked to do- but war was no excuse for savagery. Even beyond the moral issues, they were fighting a war of liberation, not conquest; they would be leaving Adrestia whole when they left, and it behooved them not to atrocitize the locals.

As for their noble prisoners- of which there were startlingly few, since most of Varley's high-borne subordinates had been out in the field fighting Bergliez- that was going to be Rhea's problem. Once Hanneman awoke, he rode back to Rhea's own encampment, some distance away, with Baron Dominic and some of his troops as a guard, and Varley's wife and daughter in tow.

-

Later that night, Rhea sat in her tent, drinking her bitter tea, wondering how the first day of the siege had went. She didn't expect much- it was the first day, after all- but she was an old general, and thus always curious how battle was going.

A moment later, her personal guard poked his head in, and his face was... confused.

“ Lady Rhea?” he said, tone speaking of confusion.

“ Yes?” she said, concerned. Confusion was a bad thing in a guard.

“ Uhh, Mr. Essar is here,” he said. “ With prisoners.”

...Prisoners?

“ We will meet him in the war room,” she said. Well, war _tent_ , she was on campaign after all. “ Get Alois as well, and some guards.”

“ Yes, my Lady,” the guard said, and left. Rhea took a fortifying sip of her tea- and then, realizing something strange was going on, downed the rest of it in one go. Not terribly ladylike, but she'd been a soldier before she'd been a priestess.

( She wasn't sure what she would have been before that, when she was just one of the Nabatea, growing in the shadow of her mother's love. What would that Rhea have chosen to do, without Nemesis, without her people's brains splattered all over the walls of the Canyon, what would she have become? Many regrets did Rhea carry, and wondering who she might have been was one of them.)

She marched out to the war tent, Alois joining her a moment later.

“What's this about old Hanneman having prisoners?” the chipper Knight Captain asked.

“ I don't know,” Rhea said. “ But I suppose... perhaps Varley or one of his nobles tried to raid their siege and got captured?”

“ From what the guard said, it's just Hanneman and Baron Dominic here along with two prisoners,” Alois said. “ He probably left Cassandra, Christophe, and that red-headed merchant to watch over the siege at night.”

Rhea nodded, but anything further was cut off as Hanneman stepped into the tent. His left shoulder was heavily bandaged with vulnerary-soaked cloth, and his eyes had the disjointed focus of a man who was _very_ tired, but was still going strong on sheer willpower alone.

“ Lady Rhea,” he said, bowing slightly, “ I would like to report that the fortress is taken.”

“ I... come again?” Rhea said. Hanneman smiled at her.

“ Baron Dominic?” he asked, turning his head, and in came the Baron, alongside...

“ Allow me to introduce Lady Varley and her daughter, Bernadetta von Varley. They surrendered themselves when the fortifications fell,” the big soldier said as he ushered in a woman obviously trying to stay composed and a girl of about nine, who looked terrified to be here. “ Lord Varley died in the fighting.”

“ You caught Varley's wife and daughter?” Alois said.

“ Yes, they were underneath the fortress,” Hanneman said. “ Varley is dead, and his estate is ours.”

Rhea blinked. He... he _couldn't_ mean what he _had_ to be meaning...

Alois spoke first.

“ I... you won?” he asked. Hanneman nodded.

“ It'll take us a day to process what we've taken,” he said. “ But yes... we won.”

Rhea's mouth worked, but she couldn't make a sound for a little while. Finally, she paused, took a deep breath, and then shook her head.

“ How? No, wait,” she paused, “that's not important right now. But House Varley is beaten, and nothing stops us from moving forward to Enbarr?”

“ We'll need a day to process all the supplies we've taken,” Hanneman said with a touch of embarassment, as if hinting at a great personal failing. “ Even Anna is a bit overwhelmed; they didn't have time to torch anything in their underground stores, so we recovered pretty much all of it.”

Embarrassed to admit that it would take an additional day- embarrassed, after conquering in one day what she thought would take him two weeks.

No, she should be honest, she didn't think the militia would take it at all. She'd thought they'd soften it up for the _real_ battle, with her Knights, who would have to take the fortress after the militia failed.

Clearly, she had underestimated them... nearly as badly as her enemies had, it seemed.

She shook her head, and laughed.

“ Well!” she said, clapping her hands together. “ I guess we're ahead of schedule.”

Hanneman grinned at her, and Alois clapped him on the back- right on his wunds, Hanneman making noises of distress as Alois apologized.

Rhea ignored that to focus on her _guests._ She turned to the woman, who seemed to stand a little straighter and shiver a little less at the mention of her husband's death, and the Archbishop's eyes were cold. The child shrank back. Rhea showed her teeth to them, that expression humans confused for a smile.

“ Let us discuss the terms of your unconditional surrender.”

-

One week later, in Enbarr, a ten-year-old noble boy, grim of aspect, recently beaten by his father's men for trying to rescue the Emperor and his family, was confined to his room. It was a dark and spartan thing, reflecting the gothic tastes of its inhabitant; but now, against stereotype, the window was wide open to the sun, and the boy was gazing out of it with an air of... hope.

Word had come that day to Enbarr on swift pegasus wings; two terrified survivors, who had spilled everything to Lord Vestra and thus, inadvertently, informed Hubert as well. The word was that Varley had fallen in one day to the Church. The duo claimed that the enemy had somehow opened the drawbridge, and in had come the Mother's Hammer, flattening all who stood before it. The terrified, ragged pegasus knights told of their narrow escape, of how arrows had taken out their sister, the pegasus trio now a duo forevermore. They had sobbed as they told their tale, and Vestra had ordered Enbarr reinforced that day.

Hubert pondered it all, as he stared out his window at Enbarr under the noonday sun, his shadow stretching tall behind him. He knew of the Church's letter, demanding the release of the Hresvelgs, whom his father had betrayed... apparently the Church had meant it when it said it would fight to save them. It... it gave him hope, for the first time since he had learned of his father's sickening betrayal, he had _hope_ that the Emperor and his family might yet be saved.

Hubert had never been much religious- he was a proud Adrestian in that respect- but if his father would not uphold his duty, and the Church would...

For the first time in his life, Hubert prayed.

_Goddess... if you are real... then hurry them along. My lords and ladies need them._

And that boy, looking out his window, gazed at the great fortress gates of Enbarr, which would be so hard to take from outside, that took only the flip of a switch from this side... and an idea began to grow in his brain.


	17. Interlude 1: Justice for Hresvelg, Smothered Mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second part! And the single largest chapter I've ever written!

**Interlude I**

**Part the Second:**

**Justice for Hresvelg, Smothered Mate**

Hanneman had actually been overly optimistic; it took a day and a half to gather everything out of Varley's stores, and that was with the Knights of Seiros moving in to help out.

( Anna forcefully commandeered all efforts by dint of sheer, unstoppable greed, and even the Knights of Seiros, holy paladins of the Church, found themselves helping the redhead, though none of them were quite sure how she'd roped them into it.)

Rhea even had the Hammer throw a feast, which Hanneman had opposed; but she'd overruled him. Rhea had more campaign experience, after all, even if Hanneman had proven himself a strategic genius; she knew that, after such a victory, a feast was not just appropriate, but, perhaps, necessary. The victorious militia needed to relax, to process what they'd accomplished, to celebrate this great victory before moving on to the next battle. Many of them would die in the siege of Enbarr; for now, let them eat, drink, and be merry.

Besides, it wasn't setting them back by much; even the feast day left them literally weeks ahead of schedule.

The Knights finished the work as the Hammer ate and drank, using supplies taken from Varley. They'd captured so _much_ from the fortress' unexpected and sudden sacking that, even minus the great feast, they had supplies enough that Rhea doubted she'd need any more to finish her campaign. Even if it all went belly-up, and she failed miserably, this war would be over before she ran out of supplies. They even had to leave some of it behind, simply unable to carry any more; but they left awash in weapons, armor, vulneraries, wagons, and all kinds of odds and ends.

Still, the real prize had been the horses they had acquired; and not just any horses, but Varley horses, the finest in Adrestia. Proper Adrestian horses, meant to carry men in the heaviest imaginable armor, themselves sturdy enough to be armored in thick steel. They now had enough of those fine, heavy warhorses, in fact, to replace all the ones they'd lost in raids, and even make something of a cavalry wing for the Hammer. Hanneman had cautioned the war council that, given the lack of time to train, he'd had to take those who already knew how to ride, and they wouldn't work as much more than scouts... but still, it was more options than they'd had.

Once they had taken everything that wasn't nailed down- and Anna was finishing prying up everything that was- they set the place on fire. Rhea made sure Lady Varley and her daughter got to watch, to reinforce on them the futility of fighting the Church... though, strangely, they didn't seem nearly as frightened as she'd have thought they would, even the nine-year-old girl who seemed so spooked of everything.

They seemed almost... _relieved_.

( Of all Rhea's forces, only Cassandra would ever come to know the truth of it; she was checking on the prisoners one night, and she caught the mother and daughter hugging each other. In a quiet voice, the mother told the daughter that no man would ever hurt either of them again, and held her tight. Cassandra, realizing she was intruding on a private moment, left quietly rather than interrupt, showing grace few would associate with the normally tactless brute.)

Still, regardless of their strange reaction, it seemed to work. Lady Varley swore her House to her true Emperor once again, and at Rhea's command began writing letters, asking her commanders in the field to return home and lay down arms, and be rebels no more.

These letters, stamped by the Varley family seal, were sent through pegasus knights loyal to the Church, who bore the silver-green strips that marked messengers throughout all Fodlan. Lady Varley and her daughter would stay with Rhea on the march, guests, in the euphemistic sense; it would ensure they didn't get any ideas about restarting the war. Rhea assigned Alois to be their personal bodyguard/jailer.

But, again, the reaction of the mother and daughter was strange; they seemed perfectly happy to be out and about, seeming to treat the entire campaign as a sort of extended vacation. While they were initially quiet, Alois' gregarious and gentle nature drew them both out, the two growing more talkative as they traveled. The little girl in particular was cautious at first, like a turtle carefully poking its head out of its shell after a predator had passed, but in time she came fully out of her shell.

( Rhea had thought of the metaphor first, then remembered that Indech had shared his blood with Varley's ancestor, long ago. She'd nearly burst her guts trying to hold her laughter in. Turtles indeed.)

You could almost always find her holding Alois' hand, confident only so long as he was with her. They all got to know little Bernadetta- Bernie, as she cheerfully called herself- Alois helpless as she dragged him along, wanting to see everything. It was all the man could do to keep the little girl in line, though at least she seemed terrified to let go of his hand; she was fearless so long as she had hold of him, but spooked whenever he was gone.

Of the others, Christophe, Anna and Gustave were her favorites; Christophe, militia's darling that he was, was good to everyone, Anna gave her little presents, and Gustave was a father, regaling Bernie with tales of his own sweet little girl, Annette, only a year younger. He promised her they could meet, when this was over, unable to deny the shy little girl anything. Cassandra she found too loud, Hanneman endearingly awkward- he'd never known what to do with children- and Rhea intimidated her, but those three she liked.

( If you asked her, Anna would declare she had no soft spot for little things, no weakness for shy and scared small ones, and had never once given anyone anything willingly in her entire life.)

As they began marching again, the Varleys settling in much better than she'd have thought, Rhea wrote letters of her own. One back to Garreg Mach, where Cichol was holding down the fort, telling him how it was going; one forward, to Fort Merceus, one that she had Lady Varley stamp and sign as well.

Fort Merceus, at the moment, was in Bergliez hands, and she needed to parlay with him. The armies rolled on, as Rhea awaited Bergliez' response to her unexpected entrance in Adrestia's civil war.

-

Rhea's letter was received in Merceus in good time, and it both frightened and elated the Count when he got his hands on it.

It frightened him... because Rhea had destroyed the third-strongest House of the Insurrection in _one day_ , according to the letter, and given that the official stamp of Varley was used on the paper, alongside Lady Varley's signature, he had to believe it. The Church was back in Adrestia after a century, and it entered the war not with a whisper, but a roar. Who knew what revenge the Church would take, after a century of being barred from the Empire?

But it also elated him... because Bergliez had known, since the war's start, that he was going to lose, and now... now he had hope that this could still be _won_. Rhea's letter stated an intention to put Ionius back on the throne, and that she wished to ally with the loyalist Houses.

She might be lying... but even if she was, what choice did he have?

So letters Bergliez wrote. One to Rhea, a reply, asking her to meet with him, so they could discuss the war and terms. One each to his allies, to the Nuvelle in their towers of wizardry and to Ochs in his besieged home, hard-pressed in Adrestia's southwest. To them, he sent words of encouragement, begging them to outlast the storm; help was on the way. They in turn would send letters of their own, to the smaller Houses allied to them; through this great, interconnected web of allegiances was the news sent that the Church had arrived, and as it passed along, it mutated, in the way information does when it travels across many lips.

The truth, that the Church crushed Varley in one day, warped over the distance of lips and time into other tales; that Rhea had pointed her hand at the wall, and a host of dragons from the Goddess descended upon it and tore it apart. That Hanneman Hammerhead had lifted his hands to the sky and prayed, and the Goddess sent a Hammer of her own that blew the walls of the fortress down. That Cassandra had become living lightning, and ran through the defenders, shocking each to death with her presence.

As these tales filtered throughout Adrestia, Rhea arrived at Fort Merceus, and Bergliez went out to parlay with her.

( And far away, when these tales reached him, a great King gave an order, and a Prince set sail under the flutter of a purple flag... but not before hugging his little girl and promising to be back in time for harvest.)

-

The Church's armies reached Merceus in relatively good order- and swiftly, too, without Varley cavalry harassing them the entire time. They'd ran into one or two armies, but the Varley troops had surrendered and let them pass without a fight.

When they reached Fort Merceus, a fine Adrestian summer day was starting, the sun high in th sky. Hanneman, from even further south than this, was fine in his robes, enjoying the day; Baron Dominic, a Faerghi, looked like he was melting inside his armor. Anna had a golden fan she'd purloined from Varley's vaults, and was walking beside Balthus, who had a silver fan of his own, the two talking about something or another while fanning themselves- probably money, given they were from Leceister.

( Actually, Rhea wasn't sure Anna _was_ from the Alliance, but she couldn't think of where else she could be from; what other nation would produce such a coin-hungry merchant?)  
  


Rhea herself was rather uncomfortable. It was hot, achingly so; she preferred colder environments, which was why she'd moved north after the war instead of putting the Church in Enbarr. Her true form was a thing of high mountain environments and snow; it liked the cool air. Her mother had designed her that way on purpose, she'd told her; she'd even made a joke about dragons not being lizards, that she'd based them on... something else. The words had flown over Rhea's head at the time- something about therapsida, and... dinosaurs? Whatever those were. Her mother had promised to explain it better when she was older... but then...

_Focus, Rhea. Focus._

Down the road, then up the hill, where Bergliez awaited them. He'd agreed to meet outside his fortifications, having set up a little open-air tent and a table for the discussion. Rhea had to admit to being a little impressed when she saw his preparations; it took courage, to walk out of your castle to meet a potentially hostile army. He wasn't even close enough to his fort for ballista or catapult fire to cover him. Most humans didn't have the guts for this kind of thing- hell, most Nabataen didn't either, for this kind of brave stupidity.

( In truth, Bergliez wasn't being stupid at all; he figured that an army that could take Varley in a day could take Merceus in a week. He was risking himself in the hopes that, even if the parley went poorly, he could still argue for his army's surrender; he didn't fear dying himself, but he would not have his soldiers slaughtered meaninglessly.)

Rhea and her small accompaniment of bodyguards and officers, as well as Lady Varley, went to Bergliez' tent. The Adrestian general had only a few attendants present, who were quite polite, and had wine to offer, fine vintages of Adrestian red, chilled with magic and served in fine cups.

Rhea observed Bergliez as they sat down. He was a hulking lug of a man, looked almost broader than he was tall, scarred with deep blue stubble across his rough cheeks; he strongly resembled a bear someone had cruelly stuffed into a suit of plate armor.

Yet for all the crudeness of his looks, he had received Rhea and her officers with all the grace of a king. She sipped her wine- too sweet for her palate, but those were Adrestian vintages for you. She idly considered the possibility of poison, but even ignoring that it wouldn't affect her- few things that killed humans also killed Nabatae- she didn't think he was the type. Besides, even if he did, her army was right there- it would run him over in short order if he tried to pull anything.

He waited until everyone was comfortable before he began.

“ Lady Rhea,” he greeted her. “ I must admit, this is not a conversation I thought I would be having.”

Rhea gave him the Archbishop Smile. She'd practiced that smile for over a millennia; the calm, infuriating smile of someone in absolute control of everything she saw. Humans hated and feared that smile in equal measure, and it was such a small thing; the merest twisting of her lips. Such a fun thing, the human mouth, such a mobile little bit of flesh- and a sense of taste! Magnificent.

“ I imagine you, like Ludwig, believed the Church toothless,” she said, enjoying herself a little bit. It was rare to throw her weight around in such a... _direct_ manner. Usually she had to be subtle.

_Usually_ , she didn't have two armies and a stunning military victory behind her.

Bergliez' mouth twitched into almost a smile before he got control of it. “ More or less,” he said. “ Your involvement is surprising. I hadn't believed help was coming from _anyone_ outside, much less the Church. Even Duke Gloucester didn't want to get involved, and we've been trading with him and that Acheron fellow for a long time. We asked them both for aid, and they turned us down, and I figured that would be it.”

“ For all that Adrestia has turned from the Church,” Rhea said, “ there are debts owed from our formation to the Emperor and his lineage, and we are now coming to pay that debt.”

Truth, even if not in any way the humans would think of. Let her followers imagine any number of reasons why; Rhea had done this for _Wilhelm_.

“ What's your goal?” Bergliez asked. “ Forgive me for bluntness, and seeming to be ungrateful. Truth is, I _am_ grateful. Breaking Varley will make all our lives easier- no offense, Lady Varley.”

“ None taken,” she said. “ The coup was my husband's idea, not mine.”

“ Then good riddance, I always thought he was an asshole,” Bergliez said, and only with great effort did Rhea not crack up. Cassandra and, surprisingly, Christophe both failed the test, barking laughs they quickly smothered, which Bergliez smoothly ignored to continue negotiations. “ Anyway, Lady Rhea, me and Ochs and Nuvelle... it's just us down here, us and a few minor Houses, and we're all backed up against the wall. So for taking Varley out of the fight, I thank you.”

“ You're welcome,” Rhea said.

“ But as nice as that is.. the Church hasn't been welcome in Adrestia in generations. Now you just show up? Better, the very first thing you do is crush the House that controls the Ministry of Religion. Do forgive me, but I feel a lot of caution is warranted where you're involved.”

Rhea smiled at him- not the Archbishop Smile, but a real smile. She liked his forthrightness; it'd been so long since she'd dealt with someone so refreshingly simple. She spent most of her time with nobles and soft-talkers and lairs; but here was someone after her own heart, with all the subtlety of a naked blade.

“ In fairness, Varley was along the way,” Rhea said. “ And in _total_ fairness... I did take some joy in it. My Church has been out of Adrestia for a long time, and I find that frustrating.”

_Wrong_. She had helped build Adrestia; she deserved a say in its running. Faerghus had broken free with Agarthan help- though she'd nipped that danger in the bud by sanctifying the Kingdom- and the Alliance had freed itself without help slithering or draconic, but Adrestia was one of the works of Rhea's hands.

“ I assume your help is contingent on Adrestia accepting the Church?” Bergliez asked. “ Frankly, while I won't fight you- not unless you attack me- I'm not keen on being known as the man who decided a religious reformation was due in Adrestia. I'm not sure the common people would accept it, either; we don't follow the same traditions down here, not anymore.”

...What _was_ she going to do? She'd launched this war for personal reasons. She launched _all_ her wars for personal reasons, if she was going to be honest with herself; but he was right, there were broader implications at play here.

She... probably should have thought about this already... but the urgency of the matter had overwhelmed her, and then the planning, and the desire to save her friend's descendants. She hadn't thought about the politics of it much.

...What _did_ she want down here, for her Church? She'd love to see Adrestia back in the fold, but Bergliez had a point; it had been a long time. What was the date that they'd been kicked out... 1064? 1065? In that area... It had been about two decades before she met Jeralt. Over a century, a timespan significant even for a dragon.

_Mother, has it been so long?_

She had gotten used to thinking of the Adrestian situation as recent, but a century was not small, even by her standards. She was so sure she'd pull Adrestia back into her arms, and loved it so much, that she'd been... gentle, with the Empire.

Too gentle... a century without her there to guide and protect its people.

_And look what happened,_ she thought bitterly. Maybe this was all her fault. If she'd been less harsh when punishing those bishops, or pushed more aggressively in the aftermath... maybe none of this would have happened, maybe Wilhelm's scions would not have suffered so.

_This is my fault._

As the cold sea inside reached up with a watery mouth, ready to close on her, she nodded her head and spoke to the old general.

“ The Church wants only to save the Emperor and his children, Count Bergliez,” she said. “ After that... the Church will maintain a presence, but I will leave the nature of that presence up to the true Emperor and his loyalists. It will be in _your_ hands. If all of you, after all this is done, decide that the Church shall simply be an observant third party- perhaps an official envoy from the Church in Enbarr- and nothing more, then I will acquiesce. I would love to see Adrestia returned to the Mother Church... but I will admit that I- the _Church_ has been far too inattentive to the needs of the Empire, for far too long.”

He noticed the slip, she was sure, but it was the best Rhea could do; the shadow was on her again, the crawling cold that whispered of her mistakes. She focused, through that sussuration, as endless as waves on the shore. She'd... she'd start small. Work her way into a position of trust again.

She had time. She could still make up for her mistakes. She... she could fix this.

( _Can you?_ the cold and dark sea whispered.)

“ A small request, to do all these great deeds for,” Bergliez said... then shook his head. “ But beggars can't be choosers, so I won't beg for another choice. What's your plan?”

“ Enbarr,” Rhea said. Bergliez nodded his head, then drained his wine glass.

“ Good,” he said. “ If you're heading south, then I'm going east. Aegir forces are the only ones in any position to reinforce Enbarr swiftly, so I'll keep them off your back. You go south, and you tear Enbarr apart- look for Ludwig. Him, Vestra, and Arundel, they're the three big masterminds of this whole thing; they convinced Gerth and Varley to join after, and all five dragged Hevring in. And all three of them like to sit in Enbarr- probably taking turns pissing on the throne. Oathbreaking bastards.”

Gustave did some quick math in his head. “ That's only six. Who is the seventh House of the Insurrection?”

“ There's only six Houses in the Insurrection proper,” the Adrestian answered the Faerghi. “ House Hrym tried to rebel, but was put down swift- but since the incidents in Hrym are what prompted the whole thing, people add them to the Insurrection Houses. That happened beforehand, though- it's why Adrestian troops did so much damage to Ordealia.”

“ Ah, my apologies,” the Baron said. “ I did not keep up overmuch with Adrestia's business until recently.”

“ It's fine,” Bergliez said, waving Gustave's concerns away.

“ If I read the situation correctly, besides Aegir, only Arundel is really in a position to contest us for Enbarr, correct?” Rhea asked. Bergliez nodded.

“ They'll be here- once they're done chewing up Ochs, anyway. Ochs is doomed. His letter said he might be able to last the week, but even that was iffy. Nuvelle's doing a lot better; they've got the bulk of the Gerth and Hevring forces tied up. Ochs would be able to recover if he had any time, he still hadn't called in all his levies before his main army broke apart in his hands... but he won't have the time. He screwed up bad, early, committed too much to one attack, and got punished for it hard. He's been running ever since, reduced to his personal levies. They'll be overrun soon. Once that happens, Arundel will turn around and march on Enbarr- I'd argue you've got about a month before they get here.”

“ One month to conquer a city that has never been sacked in a thousand years,” Hanneman mused. “ Not much time.”

“ You did Varley in a day, you can manage Enbarr in a month,” the Adrestian said with a smirk. “ But again- make sure you kill those three weasels. If any of them live, the war will just keep dragging on. More innocent lives will be lost, more soldiers will die, and all because some men, for no higher cause, stole power. You put an end to this, you hear me?”

“ We will endeavor to do so,” Gustave said. “ Are any of them particularly dangerous personally?”

“ Ludwig couldn't fight a stray cat, Arundel's a capable mage and the best fighter of the three... and Vestra, well, he's not got anything special, except he's creepy as hell. His whole family is- you should meet the son. That apple did _not_ fall far from the tree, let me tell you.”

Rhea nodded. “ We will kill them. The war ends at Enbarr. You have my word.”

“ Then let's get a contract written down,” Bergliez said, snapping a finger for an attendant to bring paper and quill. “ On behalf of the Emperor, I formally ally myself and the loyal Adrestians to the Church of Seiros.”

-

At that very moment, Hubert von Vestra, who had an appearance so sinister that, even as a child, grown adults sometimes stepped around him in public, climbed back in his window. It was a horrible thing to do, to climb out of his third-story window, and then to climb back in again later, and he only managed it by not looking down; but he managed it, nonetheless.

To fulfill his duties, he could do anything, even push on past his terror of heights. If it would help gain justice for the Hresvelgs, he would do it.

And help it would; he had his plan. He knew routes to the gates; secret ones, the kind the black market used to get around. Underbarr, they called it, or Enbrine; an entire secret world, underneath the capital. The Vestra family knew of it; of course they did, Enbarr was their protectorate since ancient times, nothing happened here without their consent.

Hubert had managed to steal maps from his father's study, and hours of study led to days of finding those tunnels, slipping into them, moving fast in the dark. He hadn't encountered anyone, had not needed the single spell he knew nor the knife in his belt, which he was grateful for. He didn't want to kill some smuggler just trying to get home; they were not his targets.

The tunnels ended in various places; drainage ditches, abandoned homes condemned but never actually demolished, one in a backroom of a brothel that was bricked off from the rest of the old mansion, connected to the outside world only by a single old door. From these exits, he used maps of Enbarr proper to find the great gates that led into the city, the vast thoroughfare and the equally vast gates of enchanted and hardened metal that protected them. Great towers rose above them, full of mages and ballista and archers; great catapults sat behind those, ready to bombard any foe.

Worse, there were _three_ such fortifications. The outer wall that surrounded all Enbarr; a second wall behind that one; and a final wall, encircling only the palace. Each was equally well-armed. Even an army that could defeat one gate might not be able to defeat all three; even a sea of swords might break on these shores of stone.

But as Varley had recently proven, if the gates were open...

Hubert looked out over the city with a smile. He could do so little for his Emperor, he could do so little to atone for his father's terrible crimes. He could do so little to prove he was cut from different cloth than his father.

But he could flip a switch.

He thought, perhaps, he might be able to flip three.

He'd run the route again. Make sure he knew it like he knew his own name, knew the way, make sure he could get in and out unseen. Practice his magic, so that once he flipped the switches, he could break them, shatter them, stop anyone from closing the doors he would open. He had time, before the Church arrived.

He prayed, as he had every night since he heard of Rhea's great crusade.

_Goddess, if you be real, help me save them; help me save the Hresvelgs._

With hope, he looked north, and wondered when he would see the fluttering flags of friends.

( And that night, he would slip down to Patricia, kept locked up and separated from her husband, and bring her fine food and fine drink, and tell her that help was coming.)

-

The diplomatic meeting was concluded in a day; the paper signed, the hands shook. Bergliez surprised Rhea once again with that handshake; she had expected him to try and crush her hand, or otherwise assert his dominance crudely, but instead he had taken her wrist only with the firmness of one warrior greeting another, respect she returned. More than just the brute he appeared to be... something to file away for later. If she was going to be involved with Adrestia on a political basis, she needed to know who the key players would be, and for his loyalty, Bergliez would rise high.

The deal worked out was fairly simple; for as complicated as war could be, and as bad as civil wars tended to be, this one was surprisingly clean. Only two sides, and a clear divide between them; this wasn't a populist uprising, after all, just a noble power play. Rhea had gotten lucky in that much. Joining one side was a simple affair, especially since Bergliez was the strongest of the loyalist Houses and, by the default virtue of might making right, their leader.

The deal made, each left, going to their assigned place. Bergliez to tackle Aegir, so it could not save Vestra, her to go south and invade a city that had never been invaded before- and on a time limit, no less. Enbarr had been besieged, yes, but never actually taken; the Church would be the first, if they managed it.

Vestra was a smaller House, and her forces outnumbered them (if barely; Vestra had been recruiting heavily before its betrayal), but it had the best defensive position imaginable; it would be a contest for the ages.

But Rhea would win it. She had to. Even if the Immaculate One would have to appear for the first time in centuries... even if it cost Rhea her everything... she was going to see this through.

She had a duty now, to finish this for all the followers who had died for it already at Varley's castle, for everyone who had marched south with her... and be all her sins remembered (and there were so many), never let it be said that Rhea did not live up to her obligations, self-appointed or given to her by the cruel universe.

She had built Enbarr into more than a collection of villages around an iron mining pit; now she would see how strong the work of her hands was.

-

For two weeks did Rhea march, down to Enbarr. Bergliez marched to, keeping to his word, as anyone who knew the man could have told you he would; as Rhea took off to the capital, he marched east with his troops. Varley soldiers they met along the way, but they gave no battle, instead surrendering to Bergliez's forces, well aware that their main fortress had been flattened, and that Rhea still had hold of the lady Varley and her daughter.

Bergliez accepted all such surrenders and, afterwards, let them go, albeit not before taking some of their equipment- mainly their weaponry. Soldiers who went home with their weapons in hand had a nasty habit of turning to banditry in hard times, and he hoped to spare Adrestia the inevitable wave of new bandits this civil war would spawn.

The majority slinked back to their homes, the levies dispersing into the peasantry while the professional soldiers went back to their barracks. For Varley and all the Houses under it, the war was over.

But a few- including a unit led by a man named Kostas- managed to dodge Bergliez and his army, and with equipment in hand, turned to banditry, the way some soldiers always did after a war. For some, it was the only way to survive; for others, they simply found they had a taste for it, discovered in warfare the place they truly belonged, and if their lords did not have a war for them to wage, they would simply pick their own battles.

Kostas went north, him and his managing to slip amongst refugees into the Leceister Alliance, where he thought there would be easier pickings. Leceisterfolk, as all Adrestians knew, were soft gold-lovers, after all, weak but very rich- the exact kind of targets a bandit would love to fight. His men eventually settled, two weeks later, into a mountainous area near a village named Sauin, and began ravaging the local area, whose inhabitants- simple commonfolk- had no way to resist him.

A week into Kostas' reign of terror, the minor baron of the area would try to root Kostas and his crew out, and find the Adrestian-trained soldiers were much better killing machines than his own meager levy. Kostas would hang hem by their ankles and gut them, letting them die long, agonizing deaths, the local baron receiving word back from the sole survivor.

Horrified and enraged both, the Baron would do the feudal thing, and call on his own lord, Duke Gloucester, and ask him to send someone to kill the bandits. The Duke would hire mercenaries for the job, in particular, a man referred to as the Blade Breaker by his enemies, who had with him a most special daughter...

But that was in the future.

In the now, the wheel of fortune spun in western Adrestia, and reversals of fortune were everywhere. Nuvelle suffered an inglorious defeat as sheer numbers ground them down, all the semi-inbred House's clever magic not enough without real allies to call upon. House elders wondered if their long-standing practice of marrying cousin to cousin was biting them in the ass, lamenting the lesson being learned now, when it was too late.

Despite their brilliance, the House of Sorcery was not enough; they simply lacked the numbers to survive. A child named Constance was hugged, hugged tight, by loving parents, but it did not stop the perceptive little girl from hearing her parent's worries, and they gnawed at the usually bombastic little girl when she tried to sleep at night.

( And unbeknownst to any of them, the bodies of one of the Nuvelle Crest bearers was taken from the battlefield by an Agarthan on the scene, who had grown curious about their magical talent.)

Meanwhile, House Ochs was resurgent, and to the surprise of everyone who heard, handily stomping Arundel into paste. Somehow, the weakest Loyalist House, ready to fall not a week before, had the second-strongest of the Insurrection Houses, which had been so strong, on the run.

Rumors flew everywhere as Arundel deserters were found in distant territories, garbling stories of sudden fires and terrible monsters; but from Ochs came only stony silence, the House's Baron almost impossible to find even for messengers. He was moving too fast, running, his army almost dashing across the landscape; even as his levies marched double-time to catch up to the main force, Ochs won another crushing victory, generating more scarred survivors, whispering of a spear whose tip contained the spirit of the Devil.

And in everyone's mind was the question... what happened?

**Baron Ochs' Paralogue**

**Details of the Devil**

His daughter was gone.

It didn't hurt. Or, more accurately, it hurt so bad that he had entered some place without pain; it had ruined him, destroyed him, there was no person inside Ochs' skin anymore to hurt, and so he felt no pain. His forces pressed so hard, and now his daughter stolen... not even a ransom note. Most likely not “stolen”, but  _ dead _ , his daughter was  _ dead _ and only his own desperate hope that it wasn't so led him to say she was “taken.”

Kidnappers left notes. Murderers didn't. His daughter was dead, and he had not even a body to bury her...

He'd lost his wife, years before. Lost his daughter now. Would soon lose his home and his people.

...Ochs broke. This had been predicted by the Agarthans, who hadn't really cared, but had written up the report anyway.

But they forgot that some broken things have sharp edges.

With his life in tatters about him, Baron Ochs found an idea buried in the scrap pile he had left for a soul. With that idea in mind the night after he broke, he gathered things to himself. Heavy gloves. Good thick rope. A small, and very sharp, knife. A good, solid spear haft- not Grey Oak, but serviceable pine, bought in bulk from Leceister.

Down he went afterwards, into the family reliquary, a small, square room bare of adornment. Inside a raised stand in a glass case sat Gladius, the fat, broad bladed knife of House Ochs. Others said it had been made over a century ago by some bishop or another, who was henceforth summarily executed by the Church... but the Ochs family maintained they had always had the blade. A Heroes' Relic of their own.

( He was wrong. It was the creation of this weapon that had led Rhea to engage in spectacular violence against an Adrestian bishop- and that retribution was what led to the Emperor throwing the Church out of Adrestia. It wasn't a real Relic, but cobbled together from broken pieces, and so even more volatile and unstable. It was why the Agarthans would not accept it as payment in those futures in which Baron Ochs tried to bargain for his daughter's life, unaware she was already dead and that Kronya was wearing her skin.)

He did not dare touch it himself, lacking a Crest, but the thick gloves seemed to insulate him from the weapon's deadly sacredness; and with rope he tied the twitching, hungry thing to the spear shaft's end, tied it tight and firm. Cutting the excess with the small, sharp knife, he gazed on what he had made- something like a spear, a way to, perhaps, wield this weapon without dying to it.

Then he set out that night, alone. The Baron had, at Garreg Mach, learned the magic of faith, of swordplay, of quick movements and swift blades, the trickster's dance of teleportation and martial arts. An army surrounded his enbattled keep, but one man could evade a thousand eyes if he was clever; and Baron Ochs, his makeshift spear in hand, was clever right now, was at his _most_ clever right now, for when he broke under the weight of his pain, one of the things he'd lost had been his fears and worries. The worst had already come to pass; everything after was easier. Without fear, Ochs gazed upon the thousand blazing torches of his enemy, and planned his route.

His scheme was simple: everyone who opposed him would die, for killing his daughter. He was going to kill them _all._ He was going to start with the officers; he would find them, kill them, and this army, leaderless, would prove easier to defeat. He could not save his little girl, he had failed as a father; but he could avenge her.

( He was not thinking logically- even leaderless, this army outnumbered his own, and had better equipment and morale- but given all that had happened, it was a wonder he had this much thought at all.)

Through their ranks he moved, ever deeper into the collection of tents that marked their warcamp, dodging patrols, crawling through ditches, leaping from tree to tree in the forest surrounding the encampment, a forest he knew better than his enemy ever could. This was his home, after all; this was where he had taken Monica to play, in her youth, when her mother still lived, before the sickness.

Before he was so alone.

He looked for the signs that indicated an officer's tent; for messengers, for guards, for the way common infantry kept a watch on their bosses' abodes. In time, he found them, a set of four tents clustered together. they had buried them deep in the encampment, and only a sturdy old tree, too big to cut down quickly, gave Ochs any cover from prying eyes. With his cloak and hat breaking up his outline, he held the hungry thing in his gloved right, leaning down with his left, pondering how to break into this nest of hornets.

...He needed a distraction. He slipped away, stealing torches from a quartermaster's tent he'd noticed earlier, one left defenseless as its quartermaster was busy fucking one of the camp followers. Torches, and lamp oil; such simple things. These simple things he put near unattended tents, places where the fire would have time to grow, and with small gleams of light magic from covered perches at a distance, he set them aflame. Light magic wasn't as hot as fire, but it was hot enough to catch oil aflame; and soon, the roar of fire was everywhere in the camp.

The fires spread fast, and soldiers immediately began trying to put them out; but no great alarm was raised, beyond that necessary for firefighting. He heard sergeants yelling, and watchmen reporting no sorties from Ochs' castle; this wasn't an attack, they assumed. Just the sort of unlucky accident that happened in war sometimes.

Ochs, back in the old stubborn tree, grinned. He had saved two torches, both soaked in oil. These he hurled from his hiding place at a tent near the officer's encampment, making sure only to throw them when the circle of four guards at the tents weren't looking his way. The commander's tents would be magically warded against fire... but the nearby tents weren't. A gleam, and more fires were spreading.

The officers, awakened by the general yelling and goings-on, finally stepped out of their tents when it was near them. Three left their tents, mostly under-dressed; they'd been asleep. A voice called out from the fourth tent, wondering what was going on, as the guards who'd been protecting the four tents stepped away to put out the fire Ochs had set.

It was time.

Ochs dropped from his place in the tall tree, already running even as he hit the ground. The guards first, hands on buckets of water or cloaks as they tried in vain to put out the fire. He swept his spear across the first two, clustered so close to each other, right across their bellies. Their armor, the heavy Adrestian steel, split like butter, and so did their flesh, intestines spilling out of them like slick bundles of colorful snakes.

The makeshift Relic spear in his hands throbbed, the Crest stone seemed to _squirm_ , and he would wear he saw the blood on the blade sink into the strange material- but other matters called. The officers still lived.

Running still, he swung again as he passed the last two guards. One guard this time, the man dropping his bucket to pull out his sword; he had withdrawn it just in time to lose his head to the Relic. This time, Ochs _knew_ he saw some of the blood spray going into the weapon, which began to pulse like a heart...

The fourth soldier almost got him, a guardswoman who took advantage of his second's distraction to strike at him with her gauntleted fists. He twisted away from her, and as he spun around he lashed out with his spear, lopping off her hands. Goddess, no wonder Relic weapons were so prized, he felt like a god of war using this weapon and he didn't even have a Crest to call upon its greater power.

The woman screamed, screamed until his backswing removed her head, too, and oh Goddess, the spear haft was shaking, it was _alive_ , it was hungry, it lapped at the blood spilled and screeched for more.

The officers, by this point, had time to react, and were yelling for help as they drew their own blades. It wouldn't do them any good; he charged, as tendrils began to spill out of the spear, reaching, reaching for anything they could grab. He dodged a sword strike by sliding under it, sweeping the man's legs with a diagonal cut that sent him sprawling into the dirt, bleeding out fast. The general behind him spat fire at him out of her hands, and he ducked under them, rising up to run his spear through her skull. Bits of that strange goo stuck to those he killed, and their bodies- it was doing something to their bodies...

The third one swung a great blade, heavy axe descending right where Ochs was standing, staring at what was happening to his enemies. Reflexes saved him, dodging backwards before he even saw what he was evading, and as the big woman's axe buried itself in the dirt, he struck her in the throat, killing her.

The weapon was too strong at this point; it shook, the black was reaching for him, black flecked with the cinders of ancient disaster... so much _hate,_ this weapon _hated_ so much, something unjust had been done to this weapon and it bore a grudge ancient beyond all belief...

It would kill him, if the corruption touched him, but his foes were not dead, he couldn't die, not just yet.

The fourth officer stepped out of his tent, wondering what was going on.

Ochs hurled his spear into the man.

The constant writhing tentacles threw his aim off; it didn't strike dead center in the chest, but to the side.

It didn't matter. The man screamed as the monster took him. Tentacles spread from him, to the other three he'd killed, the most recent; Ochs ran, fleeing those tentacles.

Behind him, four roars split the night.

Ochs made it back to his castle that night. The Arundel forces were, understandably, busy with both the fires he'd set, and the four gigantic monsters that sprang up in their midst. Strange monsters they were, too- none had legs, but great fat snake tails that propelled mouths like fields of razors, atop two pillar-like arms that had no hands on them, ended in great flat plates of bone they used to smash all before them. The beasts breathed a strange fog that poisoned men and melted metal, the five eyes each had squinted tight with joy.

With no one in the army able to find their commanders, the leaderless forces panicked, and the monsters swept through them like a scythe. Dozens fell in the first wave of the attack; more as the beasts gathered steam.

But even as the monsters attacked, Ochs, returned to his castle, prepared, his army woken up and made ready, waiting for the right moment to strike. The forces finally did rally, around a captain who had kept her head as everyone else lost theirs; she brought the first monster down with swift commands, her troops cheering as _someone_ took command. She began to direct them to kill the other monsters, and Ochs could almost hear the way her actions this night would be described, the way she'd become a hero if she survived the night.

Ochs cut her burgeoning legend short with a surprise attack from an undefended flank, the Arundel forces understandably more focused on the monsters in their midst than Ochs in his castle. His small force was a pinpoint thrust with one goal, one they accomplished in moments; arrows from his best archers took the brave captain's life. Wiht her dead, Ochs yelled for retreat, his men fleeing back to his castle's safety. Ochs went back last, healing the wounded with his light, fighting to buy them time to retreat; while their assault had lasted only a few minutes, it was enough. Whatever recovery the troops had managed collapsed again as the leadership structure fell through once more, and any attempts to rally were ruined when one of the remaining monsters attacked. The troops fled screaming into the night.

By morning, the Arundel forces were in no shape to continue fighting; their leadership decapitated, forces depleted, no one even knew who was in charge, and one of the monsters still lived, sleeping strangely peacefully amidst the gore of the slaughtered camp. Ochs led his men out to kill it, a task much easier than the one the Arundel forces had; a sleeping beast, attacked by well-led military forces under the bright summer sun, was a far shorter order than trying to defend oneself in the dead of night without aid against a rampaging monster. It died without killing anyone, and when the skin melted off of it, Ochs discovered it was that last commander, the spear still stuck in his chest.

( He would have nightmares that night, of the Crest stone in the hilt looking at him, fat and satisfied as a well-fed, sleepy tiger's eye, winking at him for giving it such delightful hunting grounds.)

He'd removed it with heavy gloves, and put it in a treasure chest... and pondered how his new trick might be used in the future. He answered none of his soldier's questions; this was a secret thing now.

While his forces waited for the levies from distant counties to arrive, they were not idle. At Ochs' direction, they robbed the abandoned supplies, healed their wounds with scavenged elixirs, stole what siege engines were left, cobbled together new siege engines out of the wreckage of those burned or smashed flat, preparing themselves for battles to come.

Once they were reinforced, they'd march on Arundel proper.

( The blade, sated, slept in its case, waiting for another chance to inflict its terrible grudge on humanity, that had murdered the dragons it came from.)

-

**Rhea and Hubert's Paralogue**

**The Lion's Den**

None of these events were known to Rhea as she marched south. All she knew was that the task lay before her, not behind; Enbarr. She'd had scouts watch Bergliez, to make sure he did as asked- but when he left, going east, that was all.

Memories swarmed her, vicious little biting fish, some good, mostly bad, the way she always recalled her past. The cold ocean beneath her, threatening to swallow her whole... and knowing that this was her fault, that Adrestia had fallen into decay because she had been away from it, wasn't helping.

Words from nearby tugged her out of her spiral, a lifeline thrown by accident.

“ Lady Rhea, I do hope you're not expecting me to pull off a Varley stunt again,” Hanneman said.

It took Rhea a moment to answer, Hanneman's voice a thin thing to stand on in her shifting sea of ghosts. “ I... I must confess,” she said, “that I was not.”

“ Good,” Hanneman said. “ It worked at Varley because he didn't expect it, and had relatively fewer troops at his fortress; Enbarr's too large for twelve mages with warp to teleport in enough forces to take it. Too well-defended. We'll have to go deep in the siegeworks for this one.”

Rhea nodded, and blinked, tried to ground herself in the here and now. A little easier than it usually was; she was marching south, long legs moving, and something about her relative discomfort in the high Adrestian heat and the muscle work focused her. Not a lot, just a little... but any port in a storm.

She walked, instead of riding, making her march south rather more literal than it was for most generals. She told the army that it was so she could be part of them, that her Goddess commanded her to walk instead of ride, and the most fervent faithful hailed it as a sign of holiness.

The real reason was that animals, who could sense the weight of Rhea's true form in her human skin, did not enjoy her close companionship, and she hadn't wanted to spend the entire march fighting her steed or riding in a wagon. Besides, the majority of the militia lacked horses, too; considering they made up the greater bulk of her forces, she wasn't slowing the army down any. It even felt kind of... good, to give her draconic strength and endurance something to _do_ , after a millennia of sitting on her ass. She hadn't been getting enough exercise, and she'd always enjoyed physical work, even before...

(before the Red Canyon, before the plan before all the lies before the Church before)

“ Hey, Lady Rhea! So if we _are_ doing siegework, I actually know a way to help,” Anna said, unintentionally rescuing her from herself. “ Didn't think of it until just now, but I've done some business with Enbarr's underworld. They've got a pretty extensive network of tunnels.”

Another long moment as Rhea reset, pulled away from the ancient past to today on the thin lifeline of a conversation. “ Come again?”

“ Underbarr! Or Enbrine. Enbarr's Asshole, one guy called it. It's a big underground cavern beneath Enbarr, a place where the criminal underground hides out. You know, smugglers, bastards, bastard smugglers- literally, I helped remove a daughter of one nobleman out of the city once- thieves, assassins, and black marketeers,” Anna said. “ They have secret tunnels everywhere. I'll see if I can get in touch with any of my old contacts, find a tunnel we can go through.”

“ If you can trust them,” Baron Gustave Dominic said. “ It would be quite a coup to get us to pay them for their support, then betray us to Vestra and gain _his_ payment as well.”

“ Fair point,” Anna said. “ Hmm. Not many I'd really trust- and I _was_ betrayed once. Asshole had me smuggling spices, but decided he didn't want to pay me, tried to stab me. Got in a good line before I killed him, though!”

“ What'd you say?” Balthus asked.

“ I had him good, my gang had killed his, and I'd knocked his weapon out of his hand, so I turned to my group and went, ' hey, prices aren't the only things I can cut!' and then I stabbed him.”

Balthus and Cassandra laughed, while Hanneman and Gustave both put their palms to their faces with nearly coordinated timing. Alois, who was giving the little Varley girl a piggyback ride, scowled.

“ Anna! There is an innocent present!”

“ No there's not, Christophe's ahead of us with Cassandra,” Anna said, and both Gustave and Hanneman joined in the laughter this time.

“ It's ok, Allo,” the girl said, hugging him. “ Daddy told a lot of stories about killing to his friends, and he never minded if I was in the room.”

Everyone there felt a pang of discomfort at that; sensing it, perhaps, the child curled up tighter around Alois, hiding her face, withdrawing into her shell. An easy task, given how tiny she was; she was nine, but small for her age, the way children who were often denied food tended to be.

Rhea knew none of the details of the girl's life, but she had seen enough human suffering to recognize the symptoms. It was why she had, finally, recognized why they both seemed to blossom, that the farther away from their lands they went the happier they both were.

( It was why she had ordered that both Varleys be fed as nobles of their rank, and treated with kindness. Rhea was an obsessive when it came to revenge, but the more things she observed about the Varleys, the more she realized what a favor Hanneman had done them by killing the patriarch.. and that his wife and daughter had not been her enemies.)

The conversation slowed, and Rhea, dreading a return to her thoughts, looked around herself, took in the world. She was moving in a group with her officers, most of whom had chosen to walk as well, themselves surrounded by a knot of her favored Knights, who were mounted around her, and past them an even larger bodyguard of stout Hammer militia.

This command group was near the middle of the great army as it marched south. The vanguard wove its way ahead of her group, down this wide Adrestian road, like a long, beautiful snake, metal shine reflecting off of metal, silver-green flags fluttering the wind, her dragon self and her Crest symbol front and center, decorated in maroon. A little touch of red, her way of acknowledging Adrestia, and the Hresvelg's own family colors of red and black.

_Wilhelm._ It had been like this, once, on the campaign. Those... those had been good times. Wearing armor and her sword at her side were good as well; better than the robes, which she'd taken off, impractical for southern travel.

She didn't follow that thought to its logical conclusions; not just yet.

( _Maybe being Archbishop doesn't suit you,_ a voice in her mind whispered, sounding like her mother, amused and dismayed at her stupidities all at the same time.)

“ At least if we do siegework, I can stop Jake from complaining,” Hanneman said into the silence, drawing Rhea's grateful attention. She did _not_ want to think about... certain matters.

“ Who's Jake?” she asked.

“ Some Faerghi ballistaman in the Hammer,” Balthus answered her. “ Gave Hanneman a hell of an earful about not letting him try out his new contraption. Some newfangled ballista he bought in Leceister, supposedly strong enough to kill Albinean mammoths... what'd he call it...”

“ Pachyderm,” Hanneman said. “ He said he'd modified it to launch bolts as well as rocks. It's surprisingly small, too- not much wider than a wagon. He claims it has punch far above its size, but we never got a chance to see it, given how I chose to conduct my battle.”

“ Perhaps he'll have a chance to prove his worth,” Rhea mused, as she turned her gaze south once more, over the gathered ranks of her army.

_We're coming, Wilhelm_ , she thought. _We're coming_.

( She didn't notice she'd said _we_ for a long time.)

-

In the throne room of the Imperial Palace, Vestra looked out the window at the sea of silver that greeted him. Emperor Ionius IX sat on his throne, the one thing Vestra had not taken from him.

_Perhaps a residual drop of shame in his bastard heart,_ Ionius thought. He glared at Vestra's back; it was all he could do.

“ Should we parley?” Vestra's general asked.

“ Yes,” Vestra said. “ We should delay this as long as we can. It'll give Arundel more time to sort itself out against Ochs, and for Aegir to hopefully beat Bergliez and send reinforcements. Given how well they're doing against Nuvelle, we might even see Gerth or Hevring troops assisting. We just need to buy time. Send word out, claim we want to talk. I'll send a diplomat later.”

“ Go yourself,” the Emperor taunted from his throne. “ Or are you a coward?”

“ I am no fool,” Vestra said. “ She'll eventually figure out we are simply delaying, and then start her siege proper. She would kill me if I stepped foot outside of these walls.”

“ Good,” Ionius said fiercely. “ I'll make whatever man does it a Baron.”

“ You're in a good mood,” Vestra mocked. “ Feeling brave?”

Ionius gazed out of the window, at the flags of friends, and drew strength from the sight. For too long, he had feared for his family, helpless to save them... but help was here.

“ Feeling hopeful,” he said.

“ Don't be too excited,” Vestra remarked, not even looking at him, the Emperor of Adrestia reduced to a heckling jester in his own throne room by Adrestia's true lord and master. “ No one has ever taken Enbarr before. The Church will not be the first.”

_Except you,_ Ionius thought. _By treachery._

He looked out the window, and inside, prayed, the way he had prayed the night his children and wife were taken from him- prayed for a miracle.

_Goddess, help us._

He sat up a little straighter in his throne, and wondered what he could do to assist.

-

Rhea did parley, for two days. Two long days, in which pegasus messengers delivered troops. She did not want to kill anyone if she could help it, and surrender would save so many lives, both of her own and of others.

She observed Enbarr as she did so. Three great walls, rising high, feet thick everywhere but at the great gates, which towered with defensive fortifications. The coastline itself limited landbound attack to a smaller area, funneling any horde of foes into a killzone, and hordes of pegasi and wyverns ran patrols in the air to discourage aerial assault. Rhea had a small air force, and they would be caught up doing all they could just to keep Vestra's own air forces off of the ground-pounder's backs.

...A lot of people were going to die in this assault.

So Rhea tried diplomacy first.

In those two days, Anna tried to get in touch with her contacts, but no one responded; there _was_ a single attempt at a trap, but Anna had taken Balthus and Cassandra with her, and the trio chewed through the trap like angry little piranhas. Siegeworks were set up, and Rhea got to meet Jake, a proud Faerghi who, despite that land's martial and not mental inclinations, was of keen mind, and had modified the ballista he'd purchased- more wheels, slimmer frame, a new design for the axles that made the travel smoother.

“ I can ride this into Enbarr once we knock the gates down!” he'd declared, confident.

Rhea wasn't sure they even _could_ knock the gates down; they were the weakest point of those massive walls, but it was like stories humans told of dragons missing only one scale; a small target to hit.

( Rhea allowed those stories to circulate; it was a memory of her people, if a corrupted one... though she was always surprised by some of them. Why on earth would a _dragon_ hoard treasure? Gold was uncomfortable, you couldn't sleep on it; Rhea knew, she'd tried, wondering where humans got the idea. Very uncomfortable.)

But in time, she realized the diplomatic talks for what they were, a ruse, and after the messengers returned, it was time.

The siege began with the roar of catapults, three days in, both the Church's siege engines, and the catapults of Enbarr, responding.

( And unbeknownst to Rhea, a boy looked out of his window, and tried to decide when he should start.)

The hours-long bombardment mostly splashed helpless against the walls. Poison and fire and stone, the usual mix; Vestra's forces were well-equipped to deal with it. He'd removed almost all of Enbarr's shore defenses- Rhea had no ships, after all- and reinforced the walls to an almost-absurd degree. Antivenin was distributed, fires put out, and only the stones really caused casaulties... but most bashed against the walls, and did no harm to those great behemoths.

But there was a cost. Sometimes, catapults overshot, and the third wall's districts were one of Enbarr's traditional slums; not as bad as the slums that clung along the cliffs of the coast, which were were beneath any barrel's bottom, but bad enough.

People died as catapult shots hit their houses; those who could not afford to leave the wall districts, who were forced to stay. One catapult shot went inside on purest accident; its operator had been aiming at one of the great towers, but missed. She had cursed, then began preparing the next shot, and thought no more of her miss.

It struck a building inside the walls. This particular building had squatters inside, homeless folk seeking refuge somewhere away from soldiers and the war; one of them was a young girl, a noble's bastard, whose name was Dorothea.

In two weeks time, in most timelines, she would be heard singing for coin by Manuela, and that woman, half-drunk and half-disaster, would nonetheless find it in herself to be a mother. She would take Dorothea under her wing, and raise her, and Mittelfrank would have a songstress beyond compare to be their newest star...

But in this timeline, a catapult shot hit an abandoned building, and the homeless gathered inside died.

Dorothea, a child, was one of the first to go; she had no time to register what was happening before the second floor of the building caved in on her, crushing her so thoroughly that there was nothing left to bury. The finest voice of her generation, the girl who was destined to be Fodlan's Shakespeare, died, and all the stories she would write died with her, and every story that would be written because of her stories died too, stillborn as Byleth had once been.

No one ever knew it. Time would erode the carcass, rot her bones to fragments, ruin her flesh so rancid it washed out with the rain; by the time the building was finally demolished by human authorities, there wasn't even a greasy stain to mark her presence.

No one ever knew of her, or the brilliant mind inside.

( Even wars fought with the best of intentions- even wars that have happy endings, and are fought to save innocent lives- spill innocent blood.)

-

One week later, as the sun began to rise over the horizon, Hubert von Vestra dropped down

It was time.

He'd fought with himself about when to do it. First day, like Varley? No, his father would be expecting such a trick on the first day. Second day? Still too soon. He'd almost made his move on the fourth day... but then a lucky catapult shot from Enbarr hit one of the Church's siege engines, and he'd decided against it. Not then. They'd be too distracted to make good use of the open gate.

But when, then? He forced himself to think about it logically, and started watching to see when Vestra's troops went off-watch, staying up long hours observing them, only taking perioidic naps so he wouldn't lose track of them, observing with a spyglass stolen from his father. The only consistent rotation was a morning rotation, right before dawn; the Church of Seiros was up and about at that time, and his father had apparently decided to rotate the guard out right before bombardment began, hoping to substitute fresh troops to face the early period of attacks.

If he made his move right before then... tired troops, to face the newly refreshed, awake, and ready Church...

It could work.

( Out at sea, a great fleet began to converge on Enbarr, making their last approach, unknowingly working in concert with the young Vestra.)

So come the seventh morning, when his nerves could not handle waiting any longer- when his fear that harm had come to Edelgard and her siblings overwhelmed him- Hubert crawled down the fortress walls in the dark. He wore a mage's hat on his head, purloined from a guard's armory; he was tall for his age, maybe they would think him a very short Adrestian mage. It might buy him a little time.

Through tunnels he knew well, he ran, finding no one. This early in the morning- or this late at night, depending on how you approached it- even Underbarr slept. He ran, closer and closer, surfacing at times only to run back down into the underground, a darting presence in the moonlight. A full moon tonight- lucky, lucky and good. A full moon meant they'd _see_ it when he opened the gate.

In time, he reached the first tower. The guards, tired and waiting for their shift to end, paid him little attention; they were watching the Church as it woke up, as engineers went about setting up for today's assault, campfires were lit to cook breakfast, animals taken care of after a long night.

Hubert entered the tower by the single door at its bottom, and up the stairs he went, trying not to run, trying to look as if he belonged. A guard saw him, but he merely waved at what he assumed to be an early replacement, and Vestra returned the wave, looking casual even as his heart stopped in his chest.

Up, up, up. Up, these towers were the tallest buildings in Enbarr; up, up. Past other guards, who took no notice, being in the midst of a card game as they were, though they kept a careful eye... on the outside. They never suspected treachery from within.

_Treachery to defeat treachery,_ Hubert mused. _The universe has a sense of humor._

Finally- after his calves were burning- he stood at the top, a dizzying distance. He gulped as he looked out the topmost room's window, and saw Enbarr, so far below him.

“ First time?” asked the guard in the room. She grinned at him. “ You must be a new recruit, shorty. Don't look out the windows; we had a guy lose his lunch out of one once, and let me tell you, that shit _spreads_ when it falls all that distance.”

Hubert nodded, as he stepped away from the window, not trusting his mouth; if he opened it, he feared he'd vomit. His noises of distress amused the guard, who did not look at him too closely; she didn't want to watch someone puke.

As his vertigo lessened, Hubert looked over the room. A small fireplace for cold nights in winter- well, cold as Adrestia ever got, anyway- a table and chairs, a ladder leading to the tower's roof, and finally the switch, a huge and arcane piece of gearwork that made up one of the room's walls. Perched here at the top, to make sure enemy forces would have to fight the entire tower to pull it.

Hubert got control of himself, and fingered the knife in his pocket. He'd... he'd never killed before. Almost had, fighting his father's men to save the Emperor, but that futile battle had been thrust upon him; he hadn't had time to think, even as he tried to kill his enemies.

This, though, this was... premeditated.

Murder.

...But duty demanded it. Hubert hardened his aching heart.

“ I'm sorry,” he said, and as the guard pondered the high pitch of the youngster's voice, he dashed to her and drove the knife in his pocket into her throat.

She choked, gurgled, struck out at him, a right hook that blackened his left eye. She choked, and she died, and there was blood _everywhere_.

Hubert clung to the knowledge of Edelgard, and all her siblings, dying in the darkness, and it was enough to keep him from panicking.

When it was done, he wiped his knife off, and turned the lever, needing both hands. As he melted the switch so it could not be pulled again, Enbarr's vast gates began to rise with a _tremendous_ sound of creaking gears and whining metal; he shouldn't have worried if they'd know he'd opened them in the night or not.

He ran down the stairs, stealth useless after that high screech, fleeing, fleeing fast, and whatever chase the guards gave, despite all their shouting, wasn't enough; he was gone, into the night.

He slipped into the tunnels as alarm was raised, and the Church of Seiros realized that the gates were opened.

-

The camp was at peace, this early in the morning. Knights and Hammer, who felt no real friction; the Knights had once derided the Hammer as amateurs, but the Victory at Varley changed that, and now the two got on well. Perhaps too well; the Hammer had many religious folk in it, and the Knights were the gleaming paladins of their tales. Officers kept watch, making sure no one got _too_ interested in pursuing more... intimate relationships, unless they were with the same sex. The ancient rule of Fodlan war; don't get pregnant on campaign. Not subject to the restrictions of their heterosexual comrades, at this early hour several people were going back to their tents, with the usual good cheer and swagger of the recently-sexed.

Rhea observed it with some amusement, particularly one man who walked as if he'd just invented fucking and was proud of the accomplishment. She'd done the same thing back in the day; she still remembered one pegasus knight, who had been a sculptor on the side. Wondrous hands.

“ Here, try this,” Alois said, drawing her out of what were, for once, pleasant memories. “ Lady Varley assures me that it'll wake you right up!”

The smell was certainly enticing. Rhea sniffed the cup of black liquid he handed her. “ Coffee, she called it?”

“ Yep!” Alois said. “ Strong stuff. She said this is the 'good stuff', which I find very worrying, considering she seems to drink the stuff raw and straight! I prefer it with a bit of cream, but the Lady Varley just downs it from the pot. Tough woman!”

Rhea suppressed a smirk as Alois added the smallest bit of magically-chilled cream to his cup. If anyone knew the Lady Varley well, it would be Alois, who had been spending more and more time with her, ever since little Bernie declared him her favorite person. It was rather cute, seeing the man act like a father; reminded her of Cichol, back when Cethleann was little, when Zanado...

No. It was too early to be thinking like that.

To distract herself, she downed a great gulp of the coffee, and... oh, _wow._

She savored it on her tongue; such deep, rich bitterness! The bouquet had not lied; this was excellent. She swirled it around before swallowing.

“ Magnificent! Tell Lady Varley I'm glad she recommended this drink,” she said, taking another sip of the pleasant dark drink.

“ That's a weird thing to tell someone about the goods we plundered from them,” Alois said with a laugh. “ Though she'd be glad we're at least putting them to some use.”

“ I'll say this much,” Rhea said, “ this siege is one of the most pleasant ones I've ever been involved with. That'll change when we enter the city, but for now, it's almost nice. Just sitting back, hurling rocks at each other.”

“ True,” Alois said. “ Even with all of our planning for the invasion, urban fighting... it never goes well for attackers.”

Plan they had, to, at daily war meetings. The scheme was fairly simple; each gate was assigned guards, who would keep it open. Reinforcements would charge down the central street; she didn't want to sack Enbarr, for two prominent reasons. First, she intended to hand it back to Ionius, and she wanted to give him a living city, not a husk.

Second, and secret, was this reason: it would be shameful, to let more humans die because of her mistakes.

She took another fortifying sip, let it distract her from her burden.

“ Any new messengers in the night from our allies?” Alois asked, finally taking a few sips himself once his coffee was sufficiently sweeter.

“ No; the situation is the same,” Rhea said. Over the last week, word from Bergliez, Ochs and Nuvelle had reached them. Nuvelle was hard-pressed, Bergliez was at a statemate with Aegir's forces, and Ochs, of all people, was riding a tide of successes that was leading him to crush all before him. War changed the fortunes of humans and Nabatea both, and never in ways anyone expected.

“ No news is good news!” Alois summarized, as Christophe and Cassandra stumbled over to their little encampment, Cassandra blinking her bleary eyes.

“ Fuck, it's early,” Cassandra mumbled. Christophe chuckled, as decent on waking up as he was in the afternoon.

“ Don't worry, I'll have tea in a moment,” Christophe said.

Cassandra's reply was drowned out by the most godawful sound Rhea had ever heard; the squeal of vast metal, moving quickly. She turned, the full moon not giving way to daylight just yet, but golden glimmers cutting through the night; and in that dim darkness before dawn, she saw an impossible sight.

The Gates of Enbarr, swinging open.

“ I... what?” Cassandra said.

“ They're making a sortie,” Alois said, leaping to his feet. “ No other reason to open the gate. To arms, **to arms!** ”

The cry was taken up, the warning alarm every soldier knew and feared to hear.

“ To arms!”

“ To arms!”

“ To arms!”

But even as the warcry carried over the camp, her guard made ready to assault any enemy, and the camp behind their protection woke up and hastily prepared... no force materialized.

The gates simply stood open, the noise stopping as they finally slid all the way open, and the panicked movements along the walls led Rhea to a conclusion Christophe voiced.

“ There's no attack coming,” he said. “ Look at them- they're confused.”

“ Who would open the gates? Who _could_?” Rhea asked, bewildered. Hanneman ran up as they stared at the gate.

“ Rhea! I heard we were under attack,” he said, wind swirling at his fingertips. “ What's going on?”

“ We don't know,” Rhea said.

“ Trap, perhaps?” Anna said, having apparently materialized from thin air at Rhea's side. Rhea tried not to jump; she was going to have to put a bell on that redhead. She was far too quiet. “ Try to lure us in thinking there's been a gate malfunction?”

“ Maybe,” Hanneman said. “ But then, why now? Those are not fresh guards; they aren't due a rotation for at least thirty minutes. I've kept watch; they're consistent about their schedules.”

“ A saboteur, perhaps?” Alois asked. “ Opening the gates?”

“ Not one of ours,” Rhea said. “ This was the work of some unknown hand.”

Anna put a finger to her chin.

“ Perhaps a loyalist,” she mused. “ Faithful to the Emperor.”

“ So what are we going to do about it?” Christophe asked, and that was the real question, wasn't it?

Possibly a trap. Possibly not.

The bombardment wasn't going anywhere. Maybe..

“ Hanneman,” she said, “ do you still have your twelve warp mages?”

-

Hubert breathed hard in the tunnels, almost collapsing. He recovered his strength for a moment, leaning against the cool tunnel wall, before he began to move again, on legs that burned. He had never been the most athletic child, being rather bookish... but, well.

His duty demanded he move, so he moved.

Rhea's foremost scout- whom she did not even know existed- moved, heading towards the second gate tower, moving as fast as his aching legs would take him.

-

The twelve were gathered swiftly, big Adrestian-style hats flopping as they ran. Twelve mages, who made Varley possible; who, today, might help her take Enbarr. They'd be legends in their own time... she should get to know them, if they lived, if _she_ lived.

She was going in first, after all.

As she ran her hand over her sword, Alois was busily trying to convince her _not_ to do this.

“ Rhea, it's too dangerous,” Alois insisted.

“ No, it isn't,” she said, as she clutched her drawn sword. “ Now defy me no more, Alois; I am going.”

This was her fault. It fell to her to be in the lead to fix it.

Her and a few others would be the speartip. Balthus, Anna, Cassandra and Gustave would go with her in the first wave, alongside herself and seven members of her personal guard; then the rest of her guard and a group of knights would be sent in until the mages were exhausted. Alois and Hanneman would not be traveling in such a manner; they would be following her, Alois first with the mounted Knights, Hanneman behind with the infantry of the Hammer.

It wasn't _entirely_ the plan they'd worked out, but no plan survived the enemy.

“ Send us in when you are ready,” she commanded, and the mage assigned to her gulped nervously, fear clear on her face- fear of screwing this up, of warping the most important person in Fodlan into a wall or a hundred feet into the air.

But despite that fear, she cast, and when it was over, Rhea and her troops manifested inside the open gate, right before a small squad of armored heavy infantry who were trying to make a shield wall.

Rhea was upon them in seconds, sword swinging, the ancient metal cutting through the modern steel, her free hand lashing out as a hammering fist that crunched metal. Gustave was to her right, the man grim of aspect as his shield bashed and his axe buried itself in human flesh. Cassandra to her left, the most ferocious part of this spearhead, Thunderbrand a bolt of thunder singing in her hands, killing and killing.

Rhea's heart sang in her chest. This... this was where she belonged. Not stuck to some chair, but out, _doing_ things, fighting, letting warm blood splash on her face. She smiled as she fought, that expression humans made when they were happy, or wanted to bare their teeth.

An Adrestian hammer nearly caught her; she dodged, and Gustave moved before her, shielding her from the next few blows. Her sword slicked around him, blocking a spear strike; she followed up by grabbing the spear's haft and tugging forward with Nabatean might, pulling a soldier stumbling out of formation. Cassandra, there in the next second, slicing the soldier she'd rattled in two. One of the heavy infantry charged, tried to use weight of steel to bowl them over; two Knights bodily blocked the charge, and Rhea dodged behind them to land a hard jab that crushed their helmet and the skull beneath it. Cut her knuckles something fierce, too, but even that felt good, in its own way, the ache of labor and work.

The next wave teleported in behind them as they battled, and broke into two groups. Anna took half, and stormed the western watchtower, light from her hands blinding anyone who tried to stop her; Balthus took the other half and ran to the eastern, the dual cestus on his fists swinging in gory hooks.

Another wave of twelve, to reinforce- but the streets were cleared, and while the men on the walls were shouting and a few were even shooting arrows, they found their angles blocked by their own fortifications, by the towers and buildings nearby. Rhea shouted curses at them, daring them to attack her; each archer shooting ineffectually _into_ Enbarr was one less archer firing _outwards_ at her oncoming forces.

Some wise captain figured that out, too. Rhea heard her yelling for them to stop shooting, to aim outside, but the captain's words did no good; the archers were too disoriented, kept firing nearly randomly at targets inside or outside the walls both.

It cost them. Rhea glanced through the gate as her battle wrapped up, the last Vestra soldier blocking their way killed when Cassandra cut him in half with Thunderbrand. She saw Alois in the lead, pushing his horse harder than she'd ever seen him push a horse before, the Knights trailing him as they tried to keep up. Behind the Knights, Rhea could vaguely hear Hanneman's yelling through her pointed ears, sermonizing, exhorting his followers to greatness; the sound of thousands of feet hitting the ground was proof they were listening.

Those charges should have been blunted with ballista fire from the towers, catapult fire, and arrows enough to fill the sky; but the tower guards were under attack, the catapults were still calibrated to shoot at the camp and not into the field, and the archers were too divided to pick their targets as a whole.

Soon enough, a man falling from a tower heralded Balthus taking it successfully. A second later, the ballista inside began firing at the archers on the walls; the same began to happen a moment later from Anna's tower. They had them.

Anna appeared next to her a moment later, swapping places with one of her Knights through her magic, and this time Rhea _did_ jump, nearly pulping Anna's head on reflex with a haymaker before she realized who it was and checked her assault.

“ I almost attacked you!” she hissed.

“ Sorry!” Anna said. “ But Lady Rhea- boss- the lever, it's busted and _melted_! They couldn't shut the gates if they wanted to- it's a saboteur! That unknown hand you were talking about- someone's helping us!”

“ But who?” Rhea asked, as Alois finally reached her, horse panting so hard it was turning to foam.

“ Lady Rhea, thank the Goddess, this plan was reckless beyond _belief_!” he bellowed. Shouts were going up all over Enbarr; more enemies would be here soon, but for now, they were in the clear.

“ Alois, the unknown hand, someone's helping us!” Anna babbled excitedly. “ The lever was pulled, then melted, we can't shut the gates and neither can the Adrestians!”

“ Really?” Alois said, as the mounted knights formed a perimeter once more. Civilians were fleeing their homes, seeing an army invade, and chaos reigned in Enbarr, even as Rhea and her army came back into some semblance of order. “ Well, I hope they can do it two more times, we still have two gates between us and the palace.”

And as if on cue, they heard the scream of another gate opening, looking up the hill to see the second of Enbarr's mighty gates, sliding open to invite them in.

“ Goddess' teeth,” Alois swore, “ I think the unknown hand heard me!”

Rhea thought of her mother's smile, that impish little grin of joy. She'd have enjoyed this bit of trickery.

_Goddess' teeth, indeed_ , she thought, with a small smile.

( Briefly, she wondered where the child had went, in whose chest she'd sewn up her mother's heart- but then she dismissed the thought. _Focus, Rhea, focus_ , which was easier to do with the thrill of combat and adrenaline in her veins.)

“ Remember the plan,” she announced, as the first Hammer troops reached them, Hanneman striding forth to join her. “ Balthus, you and Hanneman keep hold of the front door. We'll need a place to retreat to if things get bad, and I am **not** giving up the only foothold into Enbarr we have. Bring up siege equipment; so far our secret ally has been able to get two gates open, but I don't want to rely on them managing the trick again. Bring up siege weapons!”

Even as she said it, in came rolling in a great tall ballista, sticking out from the militia like a sore thumb. Five men were pushing it along, and riding in the archer's seat was a tall man of Faerghus, purple hair held back by a headband.

“ Lady Rhea!” he yelled. “ Jake of Faerghus and his Leceister crew, ready to fight! I heard you wanted siege? This baby's the best you got! Tell me what to shoot, and the _Secret Shop_ will tear it up!”

“ _Secret Shop_?” Anna said, putting finger to chin. “ Why's it named that?”

Jake laughed and patted the enormous bow. “ Because none of our 'customers' ever tell their friends about us- 'cause they're dead! Now point me where you need me!”

Anna quirked an eyebrow at the strange, boisterous man, while Rhea smiled, amused at his sheer audacity. Few indeed were the people who could approach Fodlan's archbishop so casually.

“ This would have been more helpful during our shelling of this place,” Hanneman said from behind the man.

Jake shrugged. “ The _Secret Shop's_ kinda short-ranged. But this kind of thing, this urban fighting, it's perfect for her.”

“ Bring it along then,” Rhea said. “ But try to keep up!”

“ No problem!” he said with a laugh. “ Alright lads, let's follow the Lady and give her foes a shellacking!”

Rhea, heart singing, hoisted up her bloody sword, smiling wide and hungry as she yelled her command to her army.

“ Church of Seiros, both Knights and Hammer- **forward!** ”

-

Hubert staggered out of the second gate tower, hatless and horrified. There was a dagger in his guts.

This time, the woman at the top had been ready. This time, when he entered, having seen what happened at the other gate, the guardswoman was suspicious. She'd jerked his hat off and thrown it out the window when he wouldn't speak up when spoken to.

He'd killed her with his magic, but she'd managed to stab him first. With shaking hands, he'd pulled the lever, and melted it- and he was so tired, so much magic, far too fast. He was...

He was dying.

He'd stumbled out of the room, and bizarrely, his wound was what let him get out; the soldiers, who had come running to see what was going on, found the other guard dead of some strange magic, and him in robes, stabbed and dying, and they made the wrong assumption. They assumed he was one of them, badly injured; a few tried to carry him out, to healers, but he had shrugged them off, left in a staggering run, and they were soon distracted by the Church forces, storming up the street.

He... he was dying. He wondered how he should feel about that; after a moment's deliberation, he settled on... unfulfilled.

There was a third gate. He had failed.

He slumped against a wall, as the sun's rays began to crawl down to him, the youth illuminated by a single golden ray. He wished it would go away. He just... just needed some rest.

That was all.

Before he passed out, he heard the strangest thing... music?

-

“ The second gate's down- third gate's holding!” said Vestra's general.

“ Reinforce it!” Vestra barked. “ It's the only thing keeping the Church out!”

The chancellor glanced out of one window, watching as silver flags rose high over red and black, as Adrestian forces were routed, whole groups surrendering now that the enemy was inside. The walls of Enbarr had never been taken before, but here, now, the Church of Seiros had stormed two of them, and were enbattling a third. There were so many, they were pouring in like a reverse river, the stream of silver racing uphill, towards Vestra, towards the Palace, which felt so much more vulnerable than it had when this week began.

“ Having trouble?” Ionius asked from his throne.

“ Shut your mouth,” Vestra growled, “ or I will have your tongue ripped from your head.”

Ionius shook his head. “ No, you won't,” he said.

He rose up, and walked over to the window, as Vestra looked over reports and shouted orders, messengers coming and going from the throne room in a constant stream of bad news, as certain a river as the one now marching up to the palace. Ionius saw glimpses of glory down there- a big man brawling with three others and winning, a flash of red hair followed by swordplay so fast the eye could not follow, a tall woman with green hair who could only be the Archbishop herself, sword and fist flying as she overwhelmed the forces desperately trying to dam this flood.

He'd never seen anything more beautiful in all his life.

“ Vestra?” Ionius said.

“ What?!?” Vestra snapped, as Ionius turned to face the man.

“ You are going to die today,” Ionius intoned to the man who had been his best friend, who had backstabbed him, locked away his wife, and condemned his children to die, his voice as certain and deep as great church bells ringing in the dawn. “ You will die today, and I will be the one that kills you.”

Vestra stopped for a second, a chill running down his spine, for the first time in his life scared of his Emperor, and none of the other Vestra troops dared say anything, breaths halted for a long moment.

Another messenger ran into the room during that silence, terrified.

“ Sir!” he said, shattering the quiet. “ You... you need to come see this!”

“ What's going wrong now?” the marquis growled.

“ Out the window- the port sir- ships!” the messenger exclaimed, pointing at an open window.

“ Ships?” Vestra said, as before him, Ionius' face lit up with something like... wonder.

“ Ships,” the captive Emperor repeated with soft awe, and a smile grew on his face as Vestra ran to the window, Ionius following him calm and serene.

Outside, framed by the window's red and black borders, Vestra saw a fleet of proud battleships storming into his port, knocking aside seaborne defenses he had drained of manpower to fill his land-bound walls, ballistas roaring as their bolts pounded his shore fortifications, the howl of wind as mages aboard those ships launched razor-sharp blades that slaughtered the port's defenders. Music came with them, the soprano-sweet blast of fine silver pipes, echoing from each ship, playing an old tune to give the rowers of the ships a way to row in unison.

Even as Vestra watched, one with foreign script emblazoned on its side slammed into his wharf, iron-shod front taking no damage even as it wrecked his piers, and ladders were thrown over the side, so that marine troopers could leap off and storm the beaches- another front, one Vestra's depleted forces would have to try and hold back, more water in the flood that was drowning him.

The rear of the great ship opened, and pegasi charged out, running on air, turning and charging to storm Vestra's own flyers from behind, so that both his ground and air forces were caught between the Knights and this new army. The Brigid forces were decimating them, armed with short hunting bows, arrows piercing their flying foes quickly and efficiently, devastating his air defenses.

A flagbearer leapt off the ship behind the first wave of marines, and when she held her staff high, it was flying a purple flag, marked with the royal coat-of-arms of the MacNeary family, the dolphin and crossed swords. You could see it even in the faint light of morning, which was growing real by the second.

Brigid had come.

“ He read my letter,” Ionius said, as he looked out the same window beside Vestra. The chancellor hadn't heard him walk up. Ionius' face held a quiet and victorious smile, the smile of a man who was just about to beat Death itself at chess. “ I was right; he really _is_ a man of honor.”

“ Letter?!?” Vestra asked, whipping his head around to stare at Ionius. “ I- you _planned_ this?!?”

Ionius only continued to smile at him, serene.

“ Soon,” he told Vestra, and sent the man into panic with that one word. Vestra began barking orders to his men, sending most out of the throne room, to try and rearrange his forces to meet this new threat.

Outside, the song of Brigid was loud and long, and the Emperor simply closed his eyes and listened, that confident smile on his face.

-

“ That's our cue,” Thales said, suppressing a smirk. He'd always wanted to say that; he'd learned it at the Mittelfrank. Shame he wouldn't be able to keep going to the opera. He did so love it- the music, the drama! Delightful. The “humans” in Fodlan at this time weren't real humans- they were poisoned by the Fell Star's machinations- but Thales was not above admitting they had their uses.

Maybe he'd keep a few, when they'd ascended, and washed the world clean of the mutants; caged songbirds, for his private amusement.

“ Our cue?” Ludwig grumbled, distracting Thales from his thoughts. “ Arundel, we should have left a week ago with the children in tow. Why are we not taking them?”

Thales checked the room, very quickly. Just himself and a few Agarthans here, the lesser vat-born, who lacked real will of their own.

Good. He turned to Ludwig, and gave him a small smile.

“ Ludwig, I don't give a damn about making your perfect Emperor. I had very different goals here, right from the very start; in truth, I almost ordered the children all killed. The only reason I didn't was because I wanted to see what would happen to them as they aged; we never did finish reconstructing the blood of any of them, but we got the preliminary work done, and it will be worth it to observe the effects of aging on the process.”

His head scientist had argued with that, but he'd wanted to see the developments. After all, they always had the other one to use as a weapon against the Fell Star...

“ I even have an idea that, perhaps, with the preliminary infusions finished, it might be _easier_ to return to the blood reconstruction process after their bodies have had a period of time to adjust to the initial work. All of this- your rebellion, the capture of the children, our alliance- was done simply to further goals you cannot even comprehend. Our work is so much greater than your own that to compare us is laughable. You want power; I wish to free the true human race from the burden of an alien god.”

Thales waved his hand, still cloaked in Arundel's stolen flesh, and the guards seized Ludwig.

“ What is the meaning of this?!?” Ludwig bellowed. “ Let go of me!”

“ We need a distraction,” Thales said calmly, removing a stone from his pocket, a stone marked with strange glyphs that gleamed blue-bright. His scientists had been playing with it, modifying the way a bestial's body would react to its inherent magic; it was time for a field test. “ And I need to eliminate you as well. This will work to kill two birds with one stone... and each of the Fell Star's faithful you kill makes my life easier.”

He went up to the struggling Ludwig, who screamed as Thales' soldiers pried the bestial's mouth open.

“ I'm curious to see the result myself; we based it on cats. Let's see what we can make out of you...”

Thales shoved the stone down Ludwig's throat.

-

Things were happening. Patricia knew it; could hear the sounds of heavy somethings slamming into the castle walls, could hear cheering and yells outside the palace, the shouts of a victorious army on the final assault. Church hymns and battlecries... and she would swear she heard flutes, the high and thin whistle of Brigid's pipes, cutting through the ruckus of war, the kind of thing they used on their great battleships to keep the rowers rowing in unison and to attract the lucky wind spirits they believed in. Pipes of Brigid, whistling through the windows of the keep, high and clear; the guards could keep her locked in, but they could not keep out the music.

It had worked. Her husband had intended to write Brigid's king, a plan she'd thought desperate beyond belief; but who else could they turn to? He had been hoping against hope that if none of Fodlan would help, that the pagans of Brigid would... and she could not find it in her heart, which had no hope of saving her children for so long, to doubt her senses. Against all odds, the islanders had come.

But somehow, it was more surprising to know that the little Vestra boy had spoken the truth, when he had brought her news and some wine. He had told her the Church was coming- the Church, to save an Adrestian Emperor, whose family line had kicked them out, all those years ago. More surprising in its own way than Brigid's arrival; Brigid's king was a man of honor, but Rhea was a cold Archbishop, who brooked no defiance.

...But now she was here, to save her family, and Patricia didn't know what to think. She didn't know why, but right now, she did not care. Let it be some cold-hearted ploy to gain their aid and trust. Let it be a way for the Church to exert power in Adrestia again.

If the Church would save her family, Patricia did not care _why_ they had come, only that they had.

The door opened. Patricia turned to it... and her face fell, as her visitor walked in, a pale-skinned woman with a mask on, shaped like a shrike's skull.

Cruel and intelligent eyes gleamed at her from under the mask.

“ Not what I wanted,” the intruder's voice purred smoothly, “ but you'll do. I think I'll take the old Faerghi version of your name. Anselma. That sounds awful pretty doesn't it? Anselma. Yes. Such a _pretty_ name.”

Then more guards walked in, and with swift movements, killed the two Adrestians guarding her room- and then they had their hands on Patricia.

( Her last thought, before an Agarthan found kindness in her heart and set her free of torment, was of her family.)

-

The third gate did not open. Whoever their mystery saboteur was, they had not been able to do their trick three times.

( Behind her, at the second gate, Cassandra found a youth, dying, propped up against the wall near a tower; she handed him to their healers, realizing he was too young to be a soldier, and thought no more of it as the nearly-dead youth was healed and moved down the line, back towards the healer's tents in the camp.)

This gave Rhea quite a bite of concern; this had not been a proper military advance, but something like a rolling, flailing bar brawl, and sheer momentum was the one advantage the Church had. Adrestians had surrendered, fearing that the Church's victory was imminent... but now, they were stalled, choked at this gate. The towers fired on them, her soldiers taking cover behind the wealthy mansions that sat so close to the Imperial Castle, while above her flying Knights tried to keep Vestra's air forces from engaging.

The _Secret Shop_ was returning fire, and had silenced one of the ballistas, the heavy stone it hurled smashing part of the tower to rubble, but otherwise the Church was stuck. Perhaps they should retreat to the second set of gates, secure what they now had, then resume their bombardment, directed now at this third and last wall...

As she risked a peek around the corner, she saw something that made her look again. Riders with new livery, wyverns and pegasi with purple streamers- she saw a group descend on the towers of the gate...

The now-familiar sound of the gates opening greeted her ears. Above her, the soldiers of this new army attacked the Vestra troops, and despite some initial confusion, seemed to be signaling that they were friendly to her own.

“ Hail and hello! Please do not be trying to kill me! You are the Church, yes?”

Rhea looked up as that heavily-accented voice carried down to her. Above her, a man rode a pegasus, waving a hand at her. Surprised, she waved back.

“ Hail,” she yelled to him. “ Who are you?”

“ I am being Prince of Brigid!” the pegasus rider announced cheerfully. “ How is the Fodlan people doing?”

“ Better,” Balthus grunted, standing next to Rhea. “ You open the gates for us?”

“ Just this one!” the man said cheerfully. “ We are just arriving on this fine day. If the other gates were opened, it was not being by us.”

“ I... you're Brigid,” Rhea said, stumbling a bit mentally. What the hell was going on? “ What are you doing in Fodlan?”

“ Emperor of Adrestia wrote to us! We are here to be helping,” the great prince said. “ But first, may I be landing?”

Rhea nodded. “ I- yes, please.”

He descended and jumped off, and they could take him in. He had fine features, his skin just the slightest bit tight from years of activity in the hot sun. He had a swimmer's long, toned physique, his purple hair in braids behind him. A great long sword was strapped to his back, and his hands held a short hunting bow, his quiver on his pegasus.

“ Thanking you,” he said. “ To continue, the Emperor of Adrestia wrote my father, King in Brigid, and begged for our aid. We are not here to be taking land, but to be freeing people. They have the Emperor's family, somewhere under palace. We would be breaking them out.”

“ He wrote to you?” Rhea said, still reeling from both the sheer force of the man's personality, as blazing and powerful as the tropical sun he was born under, and from her own shock and surprise at seeing Brigid here.

The dark-skinned man laughed. “ Indeed! He has been an enemy a long time- so we thought he must be desperate in terrible way to be asking _us_. And so we are here, because a man being that desperate... someone _should_ be helping.”

“ That's why you came?” Anna said, as stunned as Rhea was. “ You crossed the entire ocean just to help?”

The Brigid prince nodded.

“ It was being honorable thing to do, so we did it,” the Prince said with a shrug, and that answer was so simple and so ludicrous to hear that it had to be the truth.

“ Then... thank you,” Rhea said. “ We... we will spread the word of your aid.”

“ Good! We should not be fighting each other; there is still bad guy to kill,” the Prince said. “ I am thinking palace is all that is left?”

“ Yes,” Rhea said, staring down the street at it. “ Balthus, Gustave, stay at the gate, keep it open.”

“ Uhh, ma'am,” Balthus said, “ Gustave ain't here.”

“ What do you mean?” Rhea asked.

“ Last I saw him,” Balthus said, “ he had jumped on top of a wyvern that was attacking his troops, and it flew off with him on it, beating its rider to death with his shield.”

A pause greeted his statement as they all imagined Baron Dominic- the most stoic and reserved man in the militia- engaged in this act of theatrical violence.

“ Didn't know the guy had it in him,” Anna opined.

-

Gustave Dominic, Baron of Faerghus, was... _extremely_ lost.

He huffed, annoyed as he tried to figure out where the hell he was. They'd broken through the second gate, and then he'd jumped on that wyvern whose rider had attacked his men... not his best decision. While him and the rider battled, the wyvern had flown, distracted and confused by the accidental, conflicting orders the reins were giving it... then someone had put an arrow in the wyvern, and they'd crashed.

Gustave, heavily armored, had gotten up mostly alright save some bruising; the rider, who had been half-dead when they hit, had not fared so well, and neither had the wyvern. Gustave had stumbled out, and now he was... lost.

Where _was_ he? He could smell the sea, overpowering even the city's own smell... somewhere near the docks, then. He could hear a strange song in the air, high pipes... what was that? Not any tune he knew, though... maybe it sounded a little like one of his Annette's songs. She was always making up little nonsense songs...

He shook his head. _Focus._ The sounds of battle echoed everywhere; families were crouched in their homes, waiting for it to end, wondering whose flag would fly when the day was over. Innocents, fearing the victor.

He looked back at the house he'd just left. Thank the Goddess the dustiness of the building indicated no one was in it; he did not have to bear the burden of some innocents killed in the crash.

...But there were many innocents dying today, no doubt. He owed it to them to try to finish this, and fast.

He went down the streets, following the smell of the sea; the palace had a port. Maybe he could attack from an unexpected angle, and make it easier for the soldiers at the front; open the doors of the palace, the way their unknown helper's hand had.

-

The drawbridge was up, of course. That lasted up until the exact minute Jake and his crew rolled up; the _Secret Shop_ 's stones cracked the top of the drawbridge, breaking the chain's connecting it to the wall and sending it flopping downward.

Rhea, Anna, and the Prince of Brigid- whose name was Addeir, it turned out- entered at the head of soldiers into the Great Hall of Enbarr's Palace... which, at the moment, was dark, completely dark, the only light the early rays of dawn creeping in the windows. What little they illuminated was a room in disrepair; tables thrown, furniture slashed, great claw marks on the walls.

“ This is being warning sign,” Addeir said. “ This is strongly reminding me of animal lairs when hunting.”

“ He's right,” Jake said, as his crew rolled in behind the vanguard. “ Seen pirate coves that looked friendlier than this.”

The only warning they got was a cat's yowling growl, rendered gigantic.

-

“ What are we going to do?” the messenger sobbed.

“ I don't know!” Vestra snapped. Things were going wrong; there was some... _thing_ in the great hall now, something that kept killing his men, he couldn't even move about the palace safely now. The third gate was down, the drawbridge was down, the enemy was almost upon him...

“ Orders, sir?” the messenger repeated.

“ Go find out what's in the great hall!” Vestra snapped. The messenger saluted and left.

Vestra's mind scrambled over the options as he paced back and forth in the stolen throne room. Arundel was running; the masked mages were gone; a monster or something in his great hall. There... there had to be something, some way, some idea, something he could _do_...

“ It's time,” Ionius growled. Vestra turned just in time to see Ionius, never before known for martial prowess, who had- up until this day- been little more than average as an Emperor, pull the horned crown from his head, and with a ferocious shove, drive its sharp tips into the throat of the guard standing next to him.

The man, choking on jewels and gold and blood, let go of his axe. Ionius grabbed it and lunged at the other guard in the room, swinging his stolen weapon as hard as he could, swinging it in a massive horizontal chop from left to right that left him wide open; no warrior was he, and his attack was clumsy and unskilled.

But the guard was surprised, and thus the blow, rather than being dodged, sank deep into the guard's arm, punched through his armor; the man howled, and dropped his spear. With speed Vestra would never have believed of Ionius, he let go of the axe stuck in the screaming man and grabbed his spear, driving its sharp tip up through the bottom of the man's jaw and up into his brain, killing him.

All this had taken seconds. The first guard gurgled and died, the crown of an Empire in his throat. The second was dead, too, gasped a blood-flecked last breath onto Ionius' face, and when the Emperor turned to his chancellor, the pattern of blood on his calmly furious face lent a barbarian glory to the diplomatic man.

Vestra drew his knife with fingers that shook.

“ Stay back,” he said, through a dry throat. “ I- guards, **guards!** ”

“ No one can hear you,” Ionius said, stalking forward. “ They're all busy fighting and dying. Or they can't reach you because of whatever's going on in the Hall. No one's here for you, Vestra. Just you and me. The way this began, remember? We were at a meeting when you told me you'd betrayed me. When you had your poor, brave boy beaten for trying to warn me. When you threw away your family's honor for power.”

“ Stay back,” Vestra said, but it came out weak, and thin. His blade seemed so small, compared to the fury of an Emperor, and he backed away, not realizing how Ionius was marching him towards the open window, through which they had both witnessed the fleet of Brigid come to the aid of the Adrestian crown.

“ We were at a meeting, just me and you, and you drugged me. I awoke to a land that was stolen from me, to a land where my wife is locked away... where my children were taken, to be subjected to cruelties at your command.”

Ionius lunged again, and Vestra, with a scream, stabbed forth- but Ionius caught the blade in his left hand. No, Vestra saw a moment later, he caught it with his left _palm_ \- the blade stabbed clean through his hand. Ionius didn't even react, looked at the wound like it was nothing, and closed his fingers around Vestra's hand, preventing him from pulling it back out.

“ I could forgive you what you've done to me. Politics is power, and sometimes the lure proves... irresistible. I could forgive you what you did to me. I was merely jailed, after all. We had been friends, before; if that had been the extent of it, I would have forgiven you. Fired you, obviously, but you would have lived.”

He struck Vestra with his right hand- not a punch, but a slap, dismissive, the chancellor unworthy of a true attack. Vestra fell back, let go of the knife, and Ionius let him go, stumbling back against the open window's edge as Ionius pulled the knife out of his left hand and, with a look of contempt, threw it out the open window, sailing over Vestra's head.

“ But I can't forgive you what you've done to my family,” Ionius said.

Ionius grabbed him, and with strength born of that cold hate, lifted Vestra over his head.

“ You were my friend,” Ionius spat quietly at Vestra, as he held him above his head; Ionius was a man of average height, but in this moment he stood tall as a giant, he was strong as a titan. “ Ludwig was always my enemy, but you... I _trusted_ you. I trusted you and you **locked my children in cages!** Locked me and my wife away, forced to know you were hurting our children, helpless to save them! **You** _ **betrayed us!**_ ”

Ionius, with Vestra overhead, took one step towards the window. Vestra desperately flailed, slapping and striking at him, each blow ignored as if he'd hit not a man, but a mountain. Some things become inevitable, some things stay the same no matter how the river of time twists; this waterfall was inevitable. Once Ionius had his hands on him, there was only one result possible.

With that slow and unstoppable step, Ionius reached the open window, calming himself from his earlier shouts.

“ So _here's_ your reward, traitor.”

Emperor Ionius IX bodily hurled his traitorous advisor out of the tallest window in Enbarr, and the sound of his screams as he fell was sweet music to his ears, sweeter even than Brigid's pipes... as was the sudden silence when his flesh impacted with the stone, the wet sound that marked the death of his betrayer.

Ionius was smiling as he went to the throne room's door and barred it with the second guard's spear, to make sure no one else got any ideas of murdering their Emperor. From the guards, he nicked a few things, particularly a vulnerary in one's pocket, and a canteen full of cheap Adrestian red... as well as retrieving his crown. He put it on without cleaning it, let the blood drip down his face; he had been bloodless and pale too long. It was time to be strong, to be willing to kill, to _change_ , and the long crimson line that ran down his face felt good, felt like baptism, felt like being reborn.

He was not going to waste this second chance to be a great Emperor.

His tasks done, he went back to his throne, and sat down on it, resting, wrapping his hand in the healing poultice and drinking the common soldier's wine, awaiting word that his allies, both Fodlan and foreign, had taken the palace, and that Adrestia was his again... and awaiting the time his wife and children would all be back in his arms, safe at last.

-

The thing that attacked the Church's forces was a lion, in a sense. It was lion- _like_ ; but the head was as big as a man, and it was colored the hot red of fire.

It pounced, far faster than any beast that size should be, and only Anna's swiftness proved able to dodge fully; it smacked into the rest of them, though its aim was clumsy, awkward, almost the fumbling steps of a newborn. Rhea was thrown into a corner; Addeir and his pegasus were buffeted back, though on reflex the horse took to the air, the most ancient defense of its kind. Only Jake and his group, sitting behind the vanguard, were missed, and they were still spun around when a Knight smacked into their weapon.

“ Damnation!” he yelled, as his crew tried to turn then weapon quickly... then he realized the lion was looking right at him. “ Oh, hell!”

The Nemean beast hissed at them and raised one huge paw to maul them- but Anna was there, blinding it with light from her hands.

“ Hey, hey!” she taunted. “ Follow me! Come on, you big fat cat, follow me~!”

The beast, rubbing its face with its paws, chased her. She was running for the great steps in the back, racing past overturned tables and rows of weapons knocked over; the thing stumbled after her, clawing and clawing. Rhea recovered, and saw Addeir chasing, shooting his bow... but the arrows weren't penetrating. Too thick-skinned...

Anna raced up the steps, and the thing followed. It was slow, though, the change in incline seemed to confuse it; it hopped halfway up them and paused, wavering.

Addeir took the opportunity to draw his great long sword, and then he leapt _off_ of his pegasus, sword aimed down, planting it firmly in the meat of the beast's right foreleg shoulder. It screamed, but he was already leaping off of it, leaving his sword in it, jumping off the great stairs into thin air... and onto his pegasus, which had circled back in perfect rhythm with the man.

“ Dam **nation!** ” Jake yelled again- right before he fired his weapon at the beast, striking it in the back leg on the right side. Bones cracked as the stone hit, loud enough to make Rhea wince. The beast yowled, stumbled, neither of the legs on the right side working anymore...

Rhea grinned, and charged down the hall, even as Jake reloaded and Anna blinded it again. A second heavy ballista shot passed by her, perfectly aimed, and it further bowled the beast over, nearly flipping it. As the lion screeched in pain, Rhea reached it, staying on its weakened right side.

With a single mighty lunge, she stabbed into its heart.

The beast kicked, or tried to, but the legs were too busted on this side; it simply jerked, and then... dissolved. It melted into the shape of a red-headed man... Ludwig von Aegir?

“ Is this being common problem in Fodlan? People turning into gigantic lions?” Addeir called from above.

“ No,” Rhea said, gazing down on Ludwig's corpse, a sinking sensation in her guts as she realized just _who_ must have done this to him.“ This is new.”

“ Good! I was thinking Fodlan must be terrible place if cats grew that big. We have trouble enough with normal panthers, much less one big as house,” Addeir said.

“ Holy shit!” came a voice from above them. “ I- you killed it!”

Rhea turned her head to what looked like a palace messenger.

“ Are you with Vestra?” she growled, and the messenger waved his hands before him to ward her off.

“ Hold on- yes, but I mean no, I surrender!”

“ Good,” Rhea said. “ Now... take me to the Emperor's children.”

  
  


**Gustave's Paralogue**

**The Price of Peace**

Baron Gustave Dominic, this Faerghi in distant Enbarr, found himself at the sea- at a place where one of Enbarr's great sewers ended. A long, sodden beach followed, scattered with detritus, far from the actual port; Gustave, not being familiar with coasts or oceans in general, had misjudged how close he was to the castle. He could see that port in the distance, and what looked like a battle taking place there, between great battleships and shore defenses, the boats flying a purple flag he didn't recognize. Mercenaries, maybe.

Gustave paused beside a large chunk of stone, exposed as the sand was pulled away into the sea by the endless tide, catching his breath. His entire body ached. He was not a young man, and he had never been anything grand; just a man.

A few moments into his rest, movement out of one of the pipes caught his eye, and he crouched behind his stone, watching as people emerged out of one of the pipes, men in Arundel colors.

But one among them wore no mask, and Gustave's eyes narrowed. Lord Arundel. They'd all seen a portrait of the man in Rhea's tent. One of their big targets, a leader of the Insurrection, the Imperial Consort's brother. A traitor to family and country both; the Faerghi felt anger stiffen his spine as he saw the man walk out of the pipe, imperious as a king.

They were speaking- he couldn't quite catch it, though the language didn't sound like Church Standard- must be a code. Men piled out after him... ten total, all bearing weapons, save for one in healer's robes and one in a mage's hat. They wouldn't _need_ weapons.

He watched as they gathered on the beach; and out there, in the bay, a boat, swiftly approaching. Ah. He saw the shape of their plan now. Arundel was fleeing, escaping...

But he was here, he could stop this man. What incredible luck, that he just happened to be here...

But Gustave did not believe in luck. He was a pious man, which had led him to join the Church's holy war in the first place; and now, now he was present, here, to see Lord Arundel fleeing, when otherwise the rat might have escaped justice entirely.

He knew why he was here. The Goddess had put him here, so that Arundel would not escape, to continue this war, to continue the... _atrocities_ Gustave had heard of, the lands sucked dry, the people oppressed. The other things, the whispers of experiments on Imperial children, that made Gustave's heart, which knew a father's love, clench in his chest.

Arundel would escape, and go to his home, and the war would continue for _years_... unless he was stopped, now. His death would cause his lands to revert to his sister, the Emperor's Consort, who would stop Arundel, and bring it back into the fold.

Arundel had ten men with him. Gustave couldn't kill all those men. The Baron was a good fighter, but no legend; he was no Thunderstrike Cassandra, no Hanneman Hammerhead. He was just a man with an axe and a shield.

He didn't even have Crusher with him- he had no Crest, could not wield that sacred weapon. That would go to his sweet Annette, in time...

_Annette_.

He looked at Arundel and his men again, time slow as he pondered his choices with the speed of adrenaline, as they waited on the beach for their boat. He... he could kill Arundel. He was just close enough. Surrounded by his own men as he was, Arundel had effectively boxed himself in; if Gustave attacked him, only him, Arundel would be unable to run. If Gustave attacked Arundel alone, not his soldiers; if Gustave did not try to defend himself, but committed himself only to killing Arundel, he could do it.

He would die in the attempt, but the war would be over.

...He would be abandoning his family. He would be leaving Annette to grow up without a father, his precious Annette, seven years old and she'd cried when he left... and that would be the last time she'd ever see him. She would... she would grow up without him. He would be throwing away his chance to be a father, and Annette's right to _have_ a father.

...But if the war kept going, how many children would lose their fathers? How many fathers would lose their children? Sonless mothers and motherless sons, with only stories left of their kin. Arundel in open revolt for years was an equation that led only to death, that only led to orphans and widows and widowers. Arundel would keep Hevring and Gerth in the war... more deaths, more war, more pain, the eagle of Adrestia choking on its own blood.

Unless he stopped it, here and now.

He closed his eyes, and prayed, but not before he sent one last thought north- not to the Goddess, but back home.

_Goddess, hear my prayer; let Annette grow up in a world where Adrestia did not bleed to death in civil war. Let her grow up knowing peace. Let her grow up in a better world, happy, to be whoever she shall be. Let her mother live a long life, and marry again, and let my death not burden her forever. Let them be happy._

_Let Annette know I will be proud of her, no matter what she does. Let my wife know I love her._

... _Forgive me, Annette; forgive me, my dear wife. I love you both._

( In other worlds, Gustave abandons his family in shame, in grief and weakness, running away from them and his mistakes both like a coward; but here and now, it is for the highest ideals, for peace and life, that he makes the choice, abandoning them not for himself but for others, running not away from shame, but towards his death.)

Gustave opened his eyes, having prayed his last prayer, and stepped out from behind the stone, his first step towards his death slow and deliberate, the next step faster, much faster, turning into his last charge. He roared down the beast, shield before him, sticky sand clinging to his heels but he did not let it slow him down; he ran, faster than the slow man had ever managed before, stronger now in his last moments than he had ever been in all the days of his life.

They heard him coming. All that metal could not move silently. His great shield before him, catching javelins and hatchets and a single archer's arrows, none of them penetrating. Forward, forward, ever forward, catching brief glimpses of their formation when he dared to peek around his towering shield. Ten men, moving to intercept him. The wizard hurled fire, one-two-three, splashing on his shield and heating the metal to scorching temperatures; he still held onto it, even as it seared his flesh. It would protect him long enough to reach Arundel.

He kept going, a meteor made of steel and human will, even as his clothes began to catch fire from the blazing shield, even as the two axemen in the group stepped out and to opposite sides, preparing to strike at him. He recognized the tactic, knew what they were trying to do; they thought he would pause, turn and engage one, giving the other a chance to attack his back. They thought he would try to defend himself.

Instead, he ran past them. Confused, they paused for a few critical seconds, staring as he ran past them, towards the spearmen who have not quite set themselves up yet.

He had two targets; the healer and Lord Arundel. He cannot risk that the man will be saved... but he has something for the healer, oh yes, something the mage gave him on the way.

He chucked his scalding shield into the healer's face; the healer, on reflex, reached out and caught the melting metal, and paid for it, screaming as fingers are seared into useless, cooked meat and his robes catch fire from the sparks. Gustave, burning, put both hands on his heavy axe and _leapt_ , leapt into the air, a spear was entering his side but it didn't matter, sheer momentum was carrying him, he burned and blazed and the haft of the spear in his guts broke in half, unable to resist his weight and velocity.

His leap cleared the spearmen's rows, the biggest jump of his life- the last jump of his life- past the guards, and the last thing he saw of Lord Arundel before his axe came crashing down were his wide, terrified eyes and mouth dropped open in disbelief, his hand reaching for a bag on his belt that it will never reach.

His axe, with all his weight and strength and fervor behind it, cleaved Arundel's skull in half and kept going, he struck the blow of a legendary hero for his last blow; he split Arundel's skull completely in half, his axe blade bit through the top and the branis and the jaw all at once, to sink down and catch in Arundel's collarbone with a wet _squelch._

Gustave had just long enough to know he'd done it, that his death was not in vain, before four spears ran him through, and he died standing there, hands still on his axe.

His last thought was of his wife and daughter, and he took that with him into the dark.

( And that is how the Agastya of Agartha, responsible for so much death, was killed by no one more important than a simple, ordinary man.)

-

Underneath Enbarr, a group of children were scared, and cold, and left in the dark.

A door above them opened. Most of them whimpered. Through that door stepped all their tormentors.

Down, down the steps, came their visitor. Terrified, the children huddled together.

But down those steps was not the woman who had hurt them, nor the masked mages who assisted her, nor even Volkhard... but the answer to Edelgard's prayers.

Rhea, who saw them, who _smelled_ them, the stink of pain and blood and shit and hurt, who heard their quiet sobs. Her eyes grew wide as she reached the bottom of the steps, as she looked into the cell, and began to realize the extent of the suffering these children had endured.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

_Oh, Wilhelm, I am only sorry I did not come sooner._

“ Stand back, children,” Rhea said, voice shaking as she tried to control her sorrow and her fury both, a proposition her own mental state made difficult at best. “ I... I will save you.”

She put her sword up against the lock, and she did not entirely see the children; her mind replaced them with images of her own people, slaughtered in the Red Canyon, brains on the walls, bones ripped from bodies. Just more victims, sufferers of Agarthan attention...

_I'll save you_ , she swore to ghosts.

She pulled heavy on her sword, and with that ancient, invincible metal as a crowbar, shattered the lock, the sound of the gate breaking a beautiful sound like a ringing triangle, the sight of the cage's open door the sweetest thing any of them had ever seen.

Rhea set them free. Those who could, stood; Edelgard, healthiest, tried to help those who could not walk, until Rhea took that burden off her young shoulders, lifting the two eldest, who could not walk unaided, one in each strong arm.

Then Rhea led them all up, and out of the cells, as the edge of dawn finally reached the castle.

( Edelgard would never forget.)

-

Hubert von Vestra awoke two days later in the Church's camp.

He'd been hurt, and badly, but the wounds were simple and clean- an arrow in a non-vital spot, bruises and cuts and broken bones. They were healing him, but to his amusement, no one knew who he was; even as he heard the tales spread of his deed, of the Unknown Hand that had acted for the Emperor and opened the gates, no one connected it with some nobody survivor in one of the Church's many healing tents. There were many like him, after all; Lady Rhea had decided to heal any civilians hurt in her attack, or at least as many as she could.

A good woman. A good Archbishop.

Hubert sent a prayer to the Goddess.

_Thank you_.

He decided to tell no one of what he'd done. Let it be a legend, a myth, part of the aura of the throne; it would defend the Hresvelgs far better that way. If they knew it was him, the story became one person's bravery; but unknown, a mystery, it became a story of how Adrestia itself loved their Emperor, of the common folk's loyalty, a lesson that all traitors had to beware, for any shadow might contain the Unknown Hand.

It was a fine thing, this last service to his Emperor that Hubert could render them. A shield of shadowy myth to scare their enemies. That wasn't so bad.

( Unbeknownst to him, Ionius would figure it out, when no one could find Vestra's son; he would realize it, and believe he died. He would mourn that brave boy, and teach his children of his sacrifice, and there would be a small statue made privately, which would sit in the cemetery of the Emperors.)

It would be the last service any Vestra would perform for the Emperor; Hubert was a Vestra no longer, and his father was no more. When he heard his father was executed- thrown out a window by the Emperor himself- Hubert could muster no emotion but a sense of righteousness, of justice prevailing. A thousand years of loyalty, pissed down the drain... at least the Emperor had exacted his vengeance.

So, for a time, Hubert sat in the camp, and recovered, listening as more news poured in over time. Ludwig von Aegir had been killed; apparently he'd turned into a monster, and the Archbishop had killed him personally with the help of her milita. The Aegir line had ended with him; a day before, Bergliez' catapults had managed to kill his son.

The Insurrection was effectively over at that point; Arundel was leaderless and succumbing to the resurgent troops of Ochs, the Hevrings had never really wanted to be part of the coup to begin with, and Aegir, Vestra, and Varley were corpses.

Only Gerth remained whole and functioning and with any desire to fight, and they quickly realized that the Insurrection had failed. Gerth and Hevring approached the Emperor via messengers and asked for a deal; in return for not being destroyed, they were willing to surrender, sparing the Empire from having to use what remained of its strength subjugating them- and sparing Nuvelle, which was on its last legs.

After short discussions, Emperor Ionius IX agreed, not wanting to waste more Adrestian lives to pursue an inevitable final goal.

Both Houses still lost territory and privilege both. Much of Hevring's west was lost to Ochs, and Gerth lost pieces of its territory to smaller Houses that had stayed loyal; Gerth lost its right to the Ministry of the Exterior, and Hevring lost rights as Minister of the Interior, the two jobs going to Ochs and Nuvelle, respectively.

Varley, the last remaining traitor House, was allowed to remain mostly as it was, it being adjudged that having to suffer with a child for a leader was a significant punishment in its own right... save for one shocking thing.

To Hubert's surprise- to the surprise of many- Varley still lost the Ministry of Religion. The Church was back in Adrestia, apparently; they were even going to maintain a presence. The Hammer of the Mother Church, which had crushed Varley in a day and proven its further worth in the great siege of Enbarr, was going to take over Arundel's lands, all save a chunk of the west that was going to Nuvelle. The Emperor had initially intended to award it to Hanneman Hammerhead, rumor said, as part of restoring his old noble title of Essar, but he had declined, and it was given to the Hammer as a whole, to be ruled by an elected council from the militia's ranks.

House Hannah, it was called, after the name of a woman Hanneman had once known; rumor said it was a lover, or a sister. All that was truly known was that Hanneman had spoken a name to the Emperor, and the man who answered to that name had been swiftly brought to court, whereupon Hanneman took a hammer from one of his soldiers and beat the man to death, slowly, starting with his limbs and ending with his genitals. Revenge, agreed all who heard of it; that kind of slow death came only from hatred, and everyone wondered what that man had done to this Hannah, for Hanneman to kill him so cruelly.

But it wasn't all punishing the guilty; there came a time to reward the loyal, too. Those few Houses who had, at great personal cost, stayed loyal were richly compensated for their great works. Bergliez, mightiest of the loyalists, received a boon commensurate with their commitment; they consumed most of the lands that had once been von Aegir's, growing to cover most of eastern Adrestia.

In addition, they were given the old lands of Vestra, and made the Imperial family's retainers. Hubert wished them well. Vestra had failed, where Bergliez held true; they deserved it better than his father had.

Ochs was given most of the old Arundel lands, a practical means of acknowledging the truth on the ground; he had the troops, so the territory was his. To his small House was granted the heavy job of Ministry of the Exterior; quite a burden for a man grieving, but perhaps he was the kind of man to whom work was a kind of antidote for suffering, the kind of man who could deal with life's difficulties so long as he was kept busy. Hubert hoped he was, for his own sake.

Nuvelle had been the most reclusive of Adrestian Houses, and so their loyalty was the most surprising; but loyal they had been, and the House of Sorcery was now the predominant loyalist power of the farthest West. They were awarded great chunks of Hevring land, and the Ministry of the Interior, and Nuvelle nobility was now found in Enbarr, where they had never been seen before, flying in on their strange black pegasi, bred by the reclusive clan of wizards.

They were getting less reclusive, though; surprisingly, marriage offers had flown back and forth from them, to many Houses, mostly smaller ones. Apparently, the Nuvelle were no longer going to be quite so insular.

But to Brigid came the most surprising of things; which fit, because Brigid was the most surprising of allies. Having crossed the sea simply to help, the Emperor saw fit to declare an alliance with them, and to the further surprise of all Fodlan, the Archbishop blessed the alliance. The Church, which preached against relations with outside cultures, had claimed Brigid was an exception, and had proven itself so; the details were still being worked out, but the approval of the Central Church was assured, and that was stranger than all the rest of it.

( Rhea had initially wanted to oppose it- she still feared outside influence- but the Brigid navy had helped her save Wilhelm's descendants, and seeing the harm done to them had ripped the guts and the heart out of her; she kept seeing the faces of her kin on Ionius' children, she kept thinking of her failures, and she found she could deny Ionius nothing he asked.)

Not all was perfect. Patricia was gone- almost certainly dead- and the Emperor mourned his lost wife, as his children mourned their dead mother. Gustave had died as well, a Faerghi Baron, who had killed Arundel with his own hands; Brigid fliers had seen the battle, and descended, killing Arundel's guard seconds later. If they'd been just a little faster... but they had not been. His body was being carried back home by the Knights, to be buried with great honors at his home; Gustave Dominic, who had come because it was right, and died ensuring the Insurrection would end.

( Arundel's corpse was thrown into the sea. Let the sharks and gulls have it.)

In addition to the personal catastrophes, social disasters were everywhere. Many nobles were dead, and the ownership of land was contested. Bandits were everywhere, though the problem was lessened in eastern Adrestia; but the west was awash in gangs of deserters now, fleeing Ochs and the monsters that attacked his enemies. And the big question, looming over everything- what role was the Church going to play in Adrestia now?

It was a new Empire indeed that greeted the dawn.

The times, they were a'changing, as Hubert had heard some bard or another sing in the camps one night.

It left him curious as to what _he_ was going to do now. If the times were a'changing, perhaps he should, too.

The hospital tent gave him ideas. The Church was moving back north- well, the Knights were, anyway, given that the Hammer was staying. He'd heard people talking about Garreg Mach, that it took in orphans and, somewhat to his amusement, he realized _he_ was an orphan now... but of more interest to him was another thing, a place underneath Garreg Mach, an Abyss of darkness that held wonders never before seen under the sun.

A shadowy place, the black market to end all black markets, a land for the cunning, ruthless and loyal. A den of wolves and wise men, of criminals and gurus, the best and the worst of all Fodlan gathered at its very heart. A place the Church tolerated, the acceptable shadow of the sun, where the outcast could live...

A place where, perhaps, even a disgraced orphan might make a name for himself, and support Adrestia and the Emperor behind the scenes, even as he found a new way in life.

He'd always liked the dark. Maybe that was where he was meant to be. Hadn't it been underground tunnels that let him save his Emperor?

Hubert, no longer von Vestra, went north, traveling as a nobody, just another orphan, and in time, found his way to one of the Abyss' hidden entrances, and when he walked into that shadowed realm, he was whistling a hymn of praise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have to come clean- I am RIDICULOUSLY proud of a subtle joke in here. Jake, Anna's boyfriend, was part of a pirate crew led by a man named... Fargus. 
> 
> Obviously, I had to make him a Faerghi sailor. It was DESTINY.
> 
> Look, I'm a simple sort of person, okay, I see an opportunity and I seize it in my tiny, tiny hands.
> 
> Addeir, meanwhile, is named after the proper Arabic name, Ad Deir, of the building called the Monastery in the city of Petra; I thought it appropriate to name Petra's father after something found in Petra. After all, we always carry some part of our parents within us. I just mushed them together to make it more fantasy-sounding.
> 
> Do forgive any mistakes; I had to rush this one out.
> 
> Edit: A quick note. I forgot to mention that the name for this chapter, Justice for Hresvelg, comes from a review by DestructionDragon360, whom I meant to credit earlier for the phrase.


	18. Interlude I: Towards a New Future, Remis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done with the Interludes! One more chapter after this for the Rhea Saves Edelgard timeline, then one post in the Battle of the Retainers timeline.
> 
> Then we return to the more familiar land. Step along with me, folks; keep up the pace of the dance. Intermission ends soon, and you're gonna need your dancing shoes for the next part.

**Interlude 1**

**Part the Third**

**Towards a New Future, Remis**

Let us be brief.

Much has been said of this timeline, but we are soon to return to the land we live in, not the land of maybe. The door we open to peek into this world is closing in a short time; perhaps to be opened later, perhaps to be shut forever, never to be opened by these hands again.

So let us speak quickly. Skip along in time, and skip down the months, in the aftermath of the battle that a disgruntled Adrestian scholar, irritated by the Church's presence, will call the Bloody Baptism of Enbarr, a name loyalists will embrace as a sign of the Church's glories.

( The scholar will be very mad, but let us leave him to stew in his rage, and speak of him no more, and let him suffer in his frustrations.)

Adrestia draws our attention first; it is there, after all, that the Baptism was held. The nation is riven with loss, and the Imperial family is no different. Loss of a mother, loss of innocence, and losses more immediate and physical. The two oldest will never walk on their own again. Another sister has a hand that sits dead at the end of her wrist. One brother's eyes are blinded; another suffers fits of seizures that grip him at random. Another sister has no visible wounds at all, but has no sensation of touch anywhere except her tongue, which retains the vaguest memory of her sense of taste.

Only Edelgard is hale and whole, save the wave of scars that decorate her left arm and the area over her heart; her Crest saving her from the worst of the blood reconstruction's savageries. Her father, who seeks not to waste this second chance at being great, names her his heir; he has to. The nation needs strength and stability, and that means Crests.

Let us not peek into her mind at this time. Let us give her that privacy. Let us say only that a nine-year-old girl, with the full weight of the crown falling on her head, decides not to cry before her siblings, for she feels ashamed to ache when they hurt so much more.

But she is still nine, and so she still cries, and fears the dark, and does her best to hide these things from others.

Let us say that, when Bergliez brings his family to the capital, that he brings a son of his named Caspar, destined to inherit nothing, who is of an age with Edelgard. Of course he will make himself Edelgard's friend by dint of boisterous friendliness; it is his nature, and having been banned from seeing his former best friend Linhardt, he seeks a new best friend. Let us not peek into their friendship; we will instead be polite, and say only that he catches her crying one day, and agrees to tell no one, and when he asks how he can help, she tells him of her night terrors. Imagine that Edelgard wakes one night to find that Caspar has stayed up all night standing guard for her against her nightmares; consider the peace it might bring to a troubled child's heart, to have such a stalwart for a friend.

Know that, in time, when Edelgard must take a retainer, she will ask for Caspar by name, and that the boy without inheritance would earn his place as the right hand of an Emperor-to-be.

Her siblings marry into many families, as Ionius seeks to change the Empire; Nuvelle cousins, in particular, the western House now learning the value of allies in times of war, spreading far and wide. Cousins of Ochs come, to, though Ochs himself stays unmarried for long years, grieving his daughter; he takes a widow in time, who had lost her son, and in their suffering they find peace, in time having fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, as though the Goddess is taking pity on their pain.

( To their credit, they raise the children well, and do not compare them to the dead, though the task is hard at times.)

Randolph, of Bergliez, is married off to one of Edelgard's sisters, the poor girl who had the broken hand, and to the surprise of everyone, it turns out to be sweet as a love match; they fall for each other as hard as any two people have in all history. Their love is cemented when Randolph takes her to a well-paid healer at her own request, to have her nerveless hand hacked off and replaced with a hook. It is her own little way of reclaiming _some_ use of her arm, of recovering from what was done to her, and he is so completely supportive that he wins her heart all over again.

( Ionius and Edelgard both nearly had heart attacks.)

When they marry, he puts the ring on her remaining hand, which is opposite from the traditional hand, and wears his own ring on the wrong hand as well, sign of solidarity, and of all the people her siblings marry, he is the one Edelgard likes the best.

More changes, as all Adrestia is moved. House Hannah and the Central Church rewrite Adrestia's holy books, Rhea visiting in the winter and returning to Garreg Mach in the summer regular as a migrating bird; Edelgard, seeing her, seeks to emulate her. She holds the Archbishop as something that is part personal hero and part who she wants to be when she grows up and, when puberty hits, part celebrity crush, all three, and she often follows her unconsciously with her eyes when the archbishop is near. 

Rhea, in whose name Edelgard disregards arcane magic and axes both and takes up the sword and the magic of faith; and faithful is Edelgard, for she is one of the few people who can truly say her prayers were answered, and by the Goddess' own Church. A new chapel in the Imperial Palace, one with new stained glass windows; the largest depicts the Goddess, but flanking her is one of Baron Dominic, surrounded by fine flowers of Faerghus and backed by a halo in the colors of the Kingdom, holding the axe that ended the civil war and saved thousands. 

( They plant flowers of Faerghus in the cemetery of emperors, besides Hubert's monument; the hardy blooms wither in the summer, but come winter's coolness, blossom bright as new snow, a drop of northern glory in this southern land.)

Brigid takes part in the changes in Adrestia; the alliance, not unopposed in Brigid itself, is proven wise when Ionius sends a gift. Before Addeir left on his flagship, the  _Pride of Brigid,_ Ionius had asked him what the island nation needed; Addeir had answered truthfully that what was needed most was metal. Brigid was rich in food both land and sea, being near great fishing routes and the soil good volcanic dirt fit for growing, and her islands were big enough to support great stands of trees; but metal, particularly iron, was always in short supply. It was why Brigid metalsmiths were the best in the world; they had to be, to make anything of their scarce resources.

So within three months arrive eleven great merchant vessels flying Adrestian flags, all loaded as full as they could be with metal ingots of every variety, Brigid's reward for the rescue of Imperial sons and daughters. The captain of the first ship will give to Prince Addeir a message, written in flawless Brigid by Ionius' hand; while much was written, we shall peek at the part that stayed with Addeir.

_One for each of my children. My gratitude is beyond measure; when I had no hope of rescue, you came, with no hope of gain. I cannot possibly repay that kindness, but I will do my best to try._

_So long as my line sits the throne, Brigid will have a friend in Enbarr._

The metalsmiths, who are one of the most powerful groups in Brigid, are beyond ecstatic; some of the retired smiths even come out of retirement, so excited are they by this windfall. The MacNeary family distributes the metal with a fair hand, and thus earns the undying support of the smiths, silencing all opposition to them for a time. Much is done with the metal, and inventions flow like water in Brigid; necessity is invention's mother, but her father is wealth, and now that both are present they give birth to many new things.

One elderly smith invents a new kind of crane for the docks, an idea he'd had for years and always lacked time and metal to invent; he lives to see it implemented in every port of Brigid, for his crane design doubles the rate at which cargo may be loaded and unloaded, vastly increasing ship flow. A young man, arguing about coin weights with a friend, is inspired to make a set of metal scales that are so accurate that they even reach Fodlan in record time, Leceister merchants adopting them first and Adrestia right behind. 

And one young woman has the greatest fire of inspiration in her heart; she invents a machine that copies manuscript pages, and presses them with fine ink onto paper. It will take time for her printing press to catch on... but the world has changed, she has created a fulcrum on which all things turn.

More happens to Brigid. Trade, with Fodlan, now open and free; new foods and goods flow from the islands to the mainland and vice versa. Cultural exchanges erupt, some mere fads, others lasting changes; Adrestia in particular discovers an almost bottomless appetite for pineapples, and while Brigid clothes are a short-lived fad, tattoos become popular among the nobility as visible marks of loyalty, though it annoys the Brigid who see it, who point out that their tattoos are prayers to the spirits, and should not be done in such meaningless fashion.

( Rhea is thrown off by this most visible sign of change, but does not know how to say no when she has already said yes, and so she keeps quiet.)

Ionius even gets one himself, a long ribbon of crimson from his crown down his face, though he will tell almost no one what it means. But we can peek inside anyone's skull, and see the reason why; recall the crown, recall the blood that dripped down his face.

Ionius recalls it, too. The blood flowing down from his crown; he wants to remember that, he wants to remember the moment in which he made a different man out of himself. He wants to remember that his family almost died because of his weakness, and be that man no more.

He holds to that. The Empire changes, and the Emperor changes too. See Ionius as he trains for war! Muscles used to sitting and paperwork, pushed brutally by human will alone to heights of war; a thin frame bulked up on heavy meals so that it might wear good plate. Witness the transformation of a man, the rebirth of a human heart; Ionius, who knows that history would have called him mediocre, who know seeks to be called great. Few men get a second chance; to his credit, he takes it with both hands.

He practices himself against the plague of bandits in Adrestia with the assistance of his loyalists. Imagine that! Emperors have not gone to war in Adrestia in long ages, leaving that to subordinates, but here comes Ionius, who has only once raised weapons in anger, marching in lockstep with his heavy infantry in the very front lines. Ionius, who is bruised, battered, beaten... and _learning,_ Ionius is becoming greater with each battle he takes part in. He will never be the most skilled or strongest warrior, but there is no trait more deadly than willpower; he fights like a juggernaut, this man of average height and somewhat below average weight, he fights as though he is twice his size, long after his body would otherwise have given out.

Rhea goes with him, at times, having rediscovered how good it was to get blood on her sword again; and oh, Fodlan is  _enraptured_ by this, tales simmer on every tongue of Adrestia's mighty Emperor and the Archbishop who fights beside him. Faerghus, in particular, essentially falls in love with him; ballads are written of them, and not a few saucy tales, suggesting that, perhaps, a more...  _intimate_ ... relationship is forming.

( Rhea is amused when she hears it, having already known such tales would circulate from long experience; Ionius is enraged. He had truly loved his wife, who had wanted a large family; he'd wanted to stop at three, but his Arundel bride found childbirth easier than most women did and loved little ones.)

At one point, a lucky arrow shot catches him right as a hammer blow knocks his helmet askew; it takes his eye. He stays in the field despite the wound, despite the healers telling him they cannot save it; he does not mind, and shrugs it off as just the dangers of war. He stays in the campaign, and even continues to fight the bandits, not using his lost eye as an excuse to go home.

( It is that day that Bergliez, who had supported the throne because that was his oath, truly came to admire his Emperor, and be grateful that he had sided with him.)

What he has lost in an eye, Ionius has made up tenfold in glories and honors, and in a sense of peace inside himself. He earns acclaim from the great and the small; there are villages in Adrestia no Emperor has ever seen before, that now owe their lives to him, that would be harmed by bandits save that the Emperor Himself appeared and fought in their defense. The commonfolk had always loved their Emperor, out of habit if nothing else, but now it is near worship. The Emperor who remembered the small folk, the Emperor who cared, the Emperor who lost his eye for them.

Smaller things change, too. A young boy, with pale purple hair, will find a very drunk opera singer in an alley in Enbarr, and somewhat despite himself, the cynical child will try to carry her to the small home he shares with his mother. They are desperately poor, these two, who are Faerghi expats who came to Adrestia before the war, and avoided calamity during it. His real name is a hidden thing that even we cannot reveal; but he tells the woman, when she awakes, that his name is Yuri, and that will have to do for us and the woman both.

She will be embarrassed, and confess to the boy's mother- who is a sweet and kindly woman, if practical-minded like her son- all her sins and failures; seeing an opportunity, the mother will encourage her boy to sing, and the opera starlet will take him under her wing. In a short time, Yuri's voice will ring out from Mittelfrank's stage, and Manuela, inspired to clean up by the boy's mother, will find herself falling in love with that same woman; they will marry, in time, and with Yuri so famous when she does so, it will be the talk of Enbarr.

North of Enbarr, a simpler marriage will happen, without much ceremony; the Lady Varley, who finds in Alois real love, which she had thought she would never have. She is slow to trust him, even with as good as he is to her and Bernadetta; but he understands her worry, and it is his willingness to accept her saying no that leads her to be willing to say yes. He is still captain of the Knights, and Rhea needs him often, but home is where the heart is, and no matter where he goes, his heart is with his wife and daughter. Bernadetta will call him Papa within a year, and grow excited when her mother quickens with a little sister.

And farther north still, an orphan boy finds he fits in well with the Abyss, and begins working his way up the black market hierarchy, starting out as a simple thief, to his own amusement.

The other nations change less, but change they do. Faerghus, beyond writing sexy fanfiction about the Archbishop and the Emperor, changes the least in the first year after the war; it does little trade, so Brigid is meaningless to it, and life is as it is in the northern Kingdom. 

The major changes are personal. When Christophe comes home, his service ended with the Hammer; he accompanies Gustave's body to the baron's lands, and is present at his funeral, burying him with an ornament- a single silver hammer, a custom the Hammer had developed on campaign and that Christophe embraces, even as he has left them. He tells the wife and child of the man's last days, and Annette- mythologizing the father she has lost- begins to learn of Crusher, and how to wield it, thinking perhaps it was destiny for her to wield a Hammer.

Christophe, himself, goes home, to be loved by his father and adoptive siblings, and tell them tales of his travels. Those are good days in the realm of Gaspard, which celebrates their beloved lord's son and his deeds. He writes Cassandra, his best friend, often, and offers her advice when she is nervous or uncertain, a steady support even though he is not by her side.

But perhaps it is Leceister in which the greatest changes are made, though none would know it at the time. In Leceister, a mercenary is hired. A mercenary, working for Duke Gloucester, who has fallen so far from Adrestian favor it is a wonder he survived the impact with rock bottom. The loyalists remember that he did not choose sides, and hold it against him; his fortunes have faded, the trade that should have been his across the Great Bridge of Myrddin now directed to Brigid.

The mercenary and his band clear out a group of bandits led by a man named Kostas, near a village called Sauin. He misses the leader, but gets the rest of them, and then has a choice to make. The mercenary, who had planned to travel to Adrestia to hide his daughter in the atheistic Empire, finds Rhea's presence too toxic; he decides instead to stay, working out a deal with the Duke to be his personal problem-solver, so long as he keeps quiet about his presence. The Blade Breaker settles down in Sauin.

His daughter, half corpse, gains something like a surrogate sister and personal archenemy in an orange-haired spitfire, who wants to be just like Jeralt, and she grows up among the stout, practical folk of Leceister's mountains. They recognize her oddness... but they also note that she does her fair share of work, a thing that weighs so heavy in the balance for the pragmatic peasantry that they decide, as a whole, that she is one of them. They even gather to defend her when outsiders question the cold child in their midst; strange as she is, she works without complaint, and they gather to her defense when travelers mock her, even as the girl makes no attempt to defend herself.

Some part of her is obscurely pleased with this, and an ache she was not entirely aware of is eased inside the dead heart of the girl; in Sauin, she finds something like a home, and something else she does not know by name, a thing of calm and comfort that might be named  _peace._ In time, Duke Gloucester will send his son to train with the mercenary, a boy half-fool and half-fop and, somehow, impossibly, half-decent too; too many halves does the weird purple-haired boy have, but Jeralt and the villagers of Sauin realize that he might be a good man and a good Duke someday, and set to the task of knocking some of his rough edges off with gusto.

But the biggest change is a letter; a Grand Duke in Derdriu, hearing of what happened to Ionius' children, will remember a daughter he disowned, a decision that troubled him still. He will note Brigid's acceptance by the Church, and he will wonder if Leceister might bring another nation into the fold as well; and he will decide that he will try.

He will write, and send a letter east, to the land of the wyvern riders, to a disowned daughter, who will open it with stunned surprise... and write back, of a son.

The last of Fodlan's nations- though it and its enemies both would be angry, if you were to call them that- reorganize in the darkness of Shambhala, reaching out tendrils of information at the behest of their new master, who wears the stolen skin of an Imperial consort.

( Her victim lived all that long year, skinless, hurting, all for her kidnapper's amusement... until, finally, an Agarthan assassin, barely dry from the vats, will find she can stomach her torment no more, and drive her athame into her heart, an act of murder and mercy both.)

But stop your skipping, just for a moment. Events are happening, not in Fodlan, but further south; let us leap forward, to the day that Brigid burns, and then march along in time from there- not skipping, but marching, in lockstep with the common folk, and experience time as it is lived.

-

They say scents are some of the things that last longest in memory. The smell of a lover's cologne; the simmering warmth of a favored meal cooking; even the unpleasant smells, like rotten fruit. They last.

Imagine, if you will, the scent of an entire island burning. Not just the town that sat there, once, merry and cheerful, and all the people inside it; the trees of the island too, alongside the animals, all put to the torch. 

In an act of petty yet imaginative brutality, the navy doing the burning sets even the ground itself on fire, mocking the volcano that dominates the island, using magic to turn sand to glass and melt things that had survived the guts of a volcano. The island is ablaze, all the island is ablaze, the smoke of its dying rising thick and black into the sky, to be seen for miles around. It is a fine summer day, after all, not a cloud in sight- not a cloud, save the one that was made by human hands. 

Brigid is burning, and in the most literal way possible. Only birds survived by taking flight, but even most of them are caught by fire- this time carried by flaming arrows, loosed by mechanical puppets running on internal clockwork, rows of which line each vessel.

Only one Brigid boat is allowed to leave, a group of fishers who had been returning to port when the attack began. They are ordered to carry the tale of what they've seen to all Brigid; they flee, sobbing, weeping, rowing as fast as grieving arms can carry them.

Imagine that smell, the choking stink of human fat ablaze, of tree resin bursting and popping into foul air, the way it would cling inside your lungs for days. Imagine the sounds as flesh sizzles, as children scream their last, as trees burst and animals howl and whine for relief that will never come. Imagine the way the wind, capricious, carries the ashes, the way it would look, cinders on the wind, so much life consumed in a flash, snuffed out like a candle. 

But, no, let us stop imagining it. Let us turn our faces from it. It is too ugly, it is too wrong; let us direct ourselves elsewhere. There, in the bay; ships. Let us look at them; they are fine vessels, well-made, powerfully built. Mages line them, as do the wardolls of the clockwork puppets, and fine golden kites ride above, mounted by deadly Kinshi, alongside hordes of pegasi cavalry. No minor navy is this, but one of the finest in the world; a great power is this, not some squabbling trifle of a country. Their flag is white, with a red circle and a four-pointed shuriken on it.

The invading naval force withdraws once all is well on its way to being ashes; the architects of this atrocity laugh, and sail back to the main fleet, this act of theater complete. They have more strategy to plan; they have orders not to come home until every single person in Brigid is dead.

Dagda has come.

Edelgard is thirteen, Petra eleven, when the war begins.

-

Let us leave the island that, in the future, Brigid will call the Land of Glass and Ashes, a place where nothing grew, and the burning ghosts of the dead wandered during the day, seeking succor from the living and, by accident, smothering them with the cinders of their incorporeal forms. It is a place that will be safe to visit only at night, for the gentle touch of cool darkness soothes the hurt spirits, though it is not knowledge used often. There is nothing left there, and few know the secret of safely landing on those broken shores.

Let us go somewhere more pleasant; we have many options for that, but for now, let us slip into the envelopes of letters, let us sneak into the bags of messengers and record what we see therein.

Wyvern and pegasi riders both leave the capital of Brigid as soon as the news arrives, both to warn all the islands under their domain, but also to get aid from Adrestia. Each message is the same; Brigid calls for help. 

They have fought Dagda before, but this, this is new, this has never happened before. This is not how things go; they have battled, but it was over fishing rights and shipping and merchants, not... not this, not such slaughter, such dedication to abomination. It is utterly unprecedented. Brigid has always been caught between Dagda and Adrestia, but that has been cause for politics and espionage, not...  _genocide_ .

But now, strong southern winds blow over Brigid, and they smell of smoke.

Ionius' reply is immediate. One-eyed, he still sees clearly the debts he has yet to repay, and there is no hesitation in him. The order goes out the day the letter reaches his hand, no debate warranted or allowed; Adrestia goes to war. Ships are made ready, and more are bought from Leceister shipwrights, who make the best ships in all Fodlan.

He sends a message back to the King of Brigid, in his own language, short and simple. We peel back the cover to read it.

_I remember your kindness, and I pay my debts. Take heart; we are coming._

He writes other letters, too, to King Lambert, Grand Duke Riegan, and Rhea, back at Garreg Mach, Adrestian summers upsetting her constitution. He asks for aid, pulling on every possible ally he can find. Dagda is a mighty nation, like Adrestia, and more skilled at naval warfare than the mostly landbound Empire; victory is not assured if he goes to war with them, and he will not fail the people who saved his family.

King Lambert gathers his nobles to vote on the matter, and the vote is unanimous. They like Ionius anyway, and this is a war; they are Faerghi, war is the one thing they are truly good at. Lambert opts not to go himself- it would be improper for royalty to leave Fodlan to fight mere foreign barbarians- but he sends Rodrigue, Glenn, and all his best knights. 

They will have to hitch a ride with the Adrestians to get there, the Kingdom not being generally known for its large naval component, but the northerners are excited anyway; they've never killed anyone in the tropics before!

Grand Duke Riegan refuses, for the wisest of reasons; he fears Almyra will take this opportunity to attack Fodlan, and must reinforce the Lock. That is fair, and while Ionius is annoyed, he can't argue the logic. Riegan does what he can to lower the shipwright's prices, and he allows the Adrestian and Faerghi components of the Throat's defenses to go home, but he cannot do more than that. Ionius accepts it, with a bit of grumbling; the Leceister leader was right, now was no time to get backstabbed on the land while out at sea.

( In private, when it seems all Fodlan has set sail, Riegan takes the opportunity to do something without observation; he holds a diplomatic meeting with Almyran leaders, unprecedented in Leceister's history, and he goes out beyond the Throat to do it. The older man's bravery- for he goes alone, with no guard, to meet the enemies of his people- impresses the warriors who see it, and so it is that where an army could not go, the unarmed Grand Duke is allowed to walk. He goes, not just on behalf of his people, but for personal reasons, too; and he meets a daughter he has not seen in long years, and a grandson for the first time.)

Rhea does not want to fight for foreigners, but she feels less strongly about it than she might have a decade ago; not only does she owe a debt to them as well, but the years of fighting alongside Ionius has made her feel... better, she feels more secure in herself. He is... he is almost a friend, she no longer sees Wilhelm when she looks at him but just Ionius, sees their distinctions and differences.

He is precious to her, and that, at day's end, is enough. For the memory of a friend, she had taken the invincible capital of Enbarr; for a living friend, she would do more.

So for the second time in a decade, Rhea calls for a crusade. The Hammer howls hallelujah in answer; a House of Adrestia and made up of her most faithful, the Hammer is eager to be sent across the sea for many reasons, not the least being that its veterans remember that Brigid came to their aid in their inaugural war. 

They are joined by friends new and old alike, Rhea's words once more igniting fires in many hearts; Christophe answers the call as he did before, coming south as the fleet is built, greeted with great ceremony as he regains his place as the militia's darling. He is caught up on what has happened in his absence, of Anna's marriage to Jake, of Balthus' debts finally being brought under control by Anna's financial genius, of Hanneman's surprising and somewhat silly feud with an opera star he caught eating a sandwich off the floor, to his disgust and horror. 

Christophe laughs, taking it all in, and he is glad to once more be in the company of friends.

But a newcomer is the most important arrival; a mercenary from Dagda itself, arriving on a ship that was half-working, delirious from hunger, waving a peace flag she'd tied to her wrists and was probably too delusional to know she had on her. There was another corpse in the small boat with her, bearing a deep wound in their side, and everyone is extremely confused by their arrival. Ionius orders the obvious Dagdan to be healed, the other body preserved by ice until they knew whether it was to be buried with honors or thrown to the sharks and gulls.

When the almost-dead woman is restored, she first weeps for her dead partner, who had joined her when she found the work she'd been asked to do too monstrous to contemplate; but when she is done, she tells them everything she knows, brings to them a tale of four siblings, and the reason why of all this war. 

They had tried to get to Brigid, she explains, but Shamir was never much of a sailor; she turns out to be a fine storyteller when motivated, however. She tells them of a throne, of an archer prince given it unexpectedly by the assassination of his mother, of his older brother's death and his little sister's murder. He had always been cold and paranoid; but the weight of the crown shattered him, and he had decided that, if Brigid would ally with Adrestia, then it could not be allowed to live. 

Well, that's a mystery solved, even if it doesn't really help them fight; but Shamir asks to join them, wanting to fight back in any way she can. The Hammer welcomes her despite her lack of faith at Cassandra's suggestion, the great warrior seeing something in the cold and stoic woman's hurt that calls out to her, and when time comes, she is healed enough to join.

The fleet is ready in record time; Ionius goes in person, of course, aboard his flagship, named, at Rhea's request,  _Wilhelm_ . Rodrigue, leader of the Faerghi contingent, is with him, representative of his people, though the actual Faerghi are mostly on other vessels; the  _Wilhelm_ is a fine battelship, but it is just one of the many Adrestian ships. Most are the new boats, which are all rush-jobs, good and solid but not very pretty; but that's okay. They have their virtues; they float, they are heavily armored, and they can carry a  _lot_ of troops and supplies.

Rhea, herself, is in the Hammer's portion of the fleet, and they name their flagship after a fallen friend; the  _Gustave_ is the finest of the vessels they purchased, Church coffers joining House Hannah's surprisingly deep pockets. Fluttering on its mast is the Church's flag, but beneath it is the Hammer's own private naval signal, bearing a hammerhead shark. Someone had come up with it, and even though Hanneman had nearly been foaming at the mouth at how mad the obvious pun made him, the rest had liked it well enough to overrule him. 

Rhea thinks it's kind of funny, so she allows it. It's a dumb pun, but over a thousand years, she has found she remembers more dumb puns than more clever jokes, if only because she's still mad about some of them, long decades later.

Jake captains the vessel, having the most sailing experience as one of Faerghus' few pirates; Anna captains her own vessel, having had surprising naval experience, wearing a great big hat she'd gotten from somewhere and strutting proudly aboard her vessel, the  _Crimson Permanent Assurance._

Balthus was staying home to watch House Hannah's lands, but the others are aboard the  _Gustave,_ ready to cut across the waters and repay Brigid its aid. Shamir stands at the rail, bow in hand, cold and quiet; Cassandra watches her from a distance, something in her wanting to soothe the foreign woman's pain, but lacking the words.

Rhea watches from the front, realizing with a bit of shock that this will be her first time leaving Fodlan; she left Alois and Seteth behind, to watch, and while she worried... she couldn't help but feel oddly... excited.

The call comes; Ionius leaves first, the  _Wilhelm_ slicing through the sea. Jake calls to their sailors once the  _Wilhelm_ is safely out of port; the boat shakes, then moves. The wind is with them; that means a storm is coming from the south, the old sailors say, but Rhea kind of likes that.

A storm is coming, indeed; what better than a storm, to fight people so fond of fire?

On those heavy, rain-laden winds, the  _Gustave_ goes forth. From nearby, Anna's voice rings high, as she prepares to join them. 

“ Full speed ahead, Mr. Cohen!” Anna orders her crew with a laugh, red hair flying in the salty seawind. “ Let's do some foreign investing!”

Hanneman sighs, putting hand to face, and Rhea laughs, feeling surprisingly... good.

Edelgard and Caspar will watch from the castle, and Caspar will tell no one that Edelgard cries; he will merely hand her a handkerchief.

A picture will be drawn in Brigid that, eventually, is known everywhere, particularly once the printing press is in full swing in Brigid; a sketch of a great nine-tailed fox, bearing Dagda's symbol on its forehead, with a purple dolphin caught in its teeth. A great eagle swoops down on the beast from the east, carrying in one talon a lion, and in the other a great shark (a hammerhead, of course). It is an image that will last all the centuries of Fodlan, her oldest piece of war propaganda.

-

Let us skip the war. There has been so much talk of war; let us talk of children.

Watch the piers and ports of Enbarr; observe, as the first vessel from Brigid, a swift craft, bears both the news that Ionius arrived safely, and another thing- a little girl. Petra, sent somewhere safe to soothe her father's fears; Bergliez, in charge with Ionius gone, welcomes her as he would welcome any princess, and she is brought into Enbarr's fold.

Edelgard assigns herself the task of watching over her- which means Caspar, Edelgard's oldest friend, is dragged into it as well- and she finds Petra an unalloyed delight. So do her siblings; they all adopt the little one, who they find charming. She is bad with their language, if extremely skilled at math, so they mostly use her own tongue to talk to her; Edelgard had learned it deliberately, to honor the nation that had fought to save her, and taught Caspar the same (he grasped it quickly, to her annoyance; math evaded him, but he was good with languages). From them, it spread to her kin, and Petra is made to feel at home.

She is nervous and worried for her father and her people both, but Edelgard does what she can to soothe her fears, even as she suffers them herself. They even train together, Edelgard always trying to improve herself and Petra familiar with the dance of weapons. Petra is two years younger than her, but she is from Brigid; she proves Edelgard's better at swordplay, though not by much. Her style is like hunting; she watches, waits, and counters, always setting herself up for a strike at some vital point.

Edelgard takes some pride in her near-victories; to be almost as good as a royal princess of Brigid, even one two years younger, is actually quite something. Brigid makes the best swords and the best wielders both, and Petra is a royal of that nation; considering she comes from a land of mages, Edelgard's pretty pleased with her showing.

Caspar regularly beats Petra, but only because even Caspar has no idea what he's going to do until he does it; Petra finds him impossible to predict, and after one particularly frustrating round where Caspar threw his axe aside and then tackled her while she was trying to figure out  _why_ he'd do that, she takes to throwing tiny rocks at him in annoyance.

They are children, after all; let us leave them to enjoy what is left of it.

Let us now talk, not of war, but of revolution; let us slip away from our omnipotence, and take up residence in the head of a Dagdan woman far to the south.

Let us watch from the eyes of a princess named Hinoka.

**Hinoka's Paralogue**

**Revelation, Birthright and Conquest**

In distant Dagda, a woman of great strength, alongside a few retainers, walked the back alleys of a crime-riddled city, hunting a rumor. Rain poured down as they did so, making the hunt even harder as it cut visibility down... but the rain didn't stop the city's nightlife. It was said Nohr slept in the day, and only came alive at night; apparently, that was true, even during rain so hard Hinoka felt half-drowned. Hoshido, Dagda's capital, hadn't been like this; there, everything ran on a schedule, starting with the sun and ending with the evening... but here in Nohr, you did all the important work in the dark.

But they said a lot of things. They said the city had a lord who was not the daimyo of the region; they said he was a foreigner, who had arrived alone on a strange swimming vessel years ago, whispering of distant lands in words none knew- something about Agartha and Shambhala, of light and javelins, of terrible deeds done in the dark that he could stomach no more. They said he was dangerous, but fair, and that he was possessed of great wisdom, that he had slithered into his position of power not by dint of being the biggest monster, but by virtue of being the smartest.

They said he was interested in rebellion against King Takumi.

( They said a lot of things.)

She hoped the rumors were true. She hoped she wasn't walking into a trap. She needed help, or she'd never take her country back from her brother.

( _Takumi_ , Hinoka thought, with a sense of despair. Who knew the coldness in him would have such consequences? He had always been irritable and mean as a child... but she had not thought it would go so far, that he would order a genocide. For Brigid's sake- for the sake of whatever was left of Dagda's tattered honor- she had to stop this war.)

Down, down, into the dark did the woman go, stepping between buildings rising high into the sky, keeping her cloak tight about her as they stepped through darkness and filth and poverty, hunting criminals. Equally cloaked, her companions moved in a group with her, keeping watchful eyes on their surroundings; Takumi's spies were everywhere.

Hinoka glanced at them as they moved- these people, her new friends, gained in these last six months as Takumi solidified his hold on the throne and she scrambled around the countryside, desperately looking for rebels. An odd bunch to start a revolution with, these three: a wyvern-riding rebel knight named Scarlet who had flirted with her outrageously, the walking slab of sheer amazon muscle named Rinkah from one of the most distant barbarian clans of the continent, and Hinoka's oldest servant, Yukimura, a Hoshidan strategist specialized in puppetwork, who had found he could not stomach being ordered to be the architect of atrocity.

Not like the other officers she had were any better. Her camp outside the city- the beating heart of the rebel army she hoped to form- was full of people just as weird. The shining star of her heavy infantry was a food-obsessed woman who was the _dumbest_ person Hinoka had ever met, but she had terrifying strength far beyond that of an ordinary human, able to lift trees out of the ground. The captain of her heavy infantry- or, as she thought of him, the poor bastard in charge of guiding Effie towards the enemy- was a man from distant Duscur, who despite an intimidating appearance was timid and sweet... and also had a pet bear, because why not at this point. Rounding out her captains was a blonde cavalryman who spoke of **justice** in such a way that you heard the bold inflation, and her infantry captain was someone Hinoka always thought of, with an internal sigh, as _fucking Charlotte._

Sun's light, she missed Setsuna.

_No, don't think of her,_ she told herself sternly, as Rinka indicated the way was clear, and they passed through a filthy alley, heading still deeper into the guts of this coastal city. _You can't break down just yet, Hinoka._

( Setsuna, who had died getting her out of the castle after her brother's betrayal. Setsuna, so goofy, so strange... who had proven loyal, at the end, unlike Azama, who had decided that the death of Brigid was not his problem, his sloth leading him to refuse to support Hinoka when she told them what she planned. Setsuna, who had smiled at her one last time, before Takumi's arrow ended her life.)

Thinking of those she'd lost threatened to make her think of her family, of her mother and brother and sister all dead, but with force of will, Hinoka put that aside. Not... not now.

( It was the most personal of all her tragedies, but Hinoka had never had time to properly grieve for her family- and she included Takumi in that, so lost in his paranoia and fear that it had killed the man he was, as surely as a knife would have.)

Finally, they reached a large casino; apparently, the criminal underground hid by making themselves so obvious that the law simply looked past them. Magefire lit up a great sign, showing a great dragon, drunk as a sot, saluting them with a bottle of sake with one foreclaw, while the other held a finger up to its lips, hushing the viewer.

_The Silent Dragon_ , the sign declared. Their goal. They approached it, and the hulking brute in black armor standing before it.

“ Hello,” Hinoka said, mentally reminding herself not to use any of the honorifics that would identify her, “ we are seeking entrance.”

“ Ah, Queen Hinoka,” the doorguard said, and the entire group stiffened in alertness at his casual identification. “ We have been expecting you. Come, enter; speak with Camilla. She will guide you down.”

“ How did you-” Scarlet began, but the large man shook his head.

“ You are good enough to evade royal spies,” he said, “ but not good enough to fool Nohrian locals. Your movements have been tracked since you entered the city; but we mean you no harm. If we wished to do so, we would simply have told Takumi's forces of your whereabouts. Please, enter. You are guests here.”

A long moment passed, then Yukimura shrugged.

“ Not like we have much choice,” the puppetmaster said, and nodding their agreement, the quartet entered.

The place was well-decorated, tasteful and elegant; Hinoka felt mildly guilty tromping into it like a wet rat. A few servants quickly approached, giving them new footwear, taking their cloaks and hanging them as formally as if they had been fine furs, and offering them both replacement clothes for the soaked things they had on, and places of privacy to clean up in.

The group, while grateful to put their cloaks away, gave a side-eye to the offered clothing changes.

“ Feel free!” a voice said from nearby. In walked... the _tallest_ woman she'd ever seen, moonblight, she was the tallest person Hinoka had ever met. Softly purple hair trailed down the big woman's back as she gave the group a soft, genuine smile. “ It's complimentary. I'm Camilla, your host- and I do hope Gunter said that! He has a way with words, by which I mean he doesn't talk much.”

Hinoka, distracted by her revelation of just how much taller than her Camilla was- specifically, the thought _oh no, that works for me_ \- did not respond, but was accidentally saved by her puppeteer.

“ Do we have to put our weapons away?” Yukimura asked. A soft giggle answered him.

“ Of course not! They won't do you any good if we decide to kill you anyway,” Camilla said, as nicely as she'd greeted them. “ But don't worry; we don't intend to kill you. So don't attack us and we won't attack you! Everyone lives if everyone plays nice.”

“ ...That was the least reassuring assurance anyone's ever given me,” Hinoka said. Camille smiled at her.

“ Honesty is a virtue,” she said. Rinka nodded her head at that.

“ Eh, fuck it,” the big barbarian woman said. “ Gonna change clothes. Hard to talk when water is running down my ass and my sandals squish with each step.”

“ That's the spirit!” Camilla said.

Change they did, in private places, helped by a woman with hair done up like a prostitute; well, probably an actual prostitute, Hinoka thought. That _was_ generally how these sorts of places worked.

What a life she'd led, to end up here.

Dry and dressed, down they went, into the basement of the casino, led by the big woman, whose ass Hinoka kept looking at when she wasn't paying attention. Down long stairs, to a basement shrouded in black, lined with strange blue lights; the back of the basement had been cordoned off with purple fabrics, and a thin smell of fresh tea hung in the air.

“ The boss is in there,” Camilla said, standing next to the gap in the purple folds that led deeper inside. “ He wants to meet Princess Hinoka by herself at first, then the rest of you can go in.”

“ Boss, it's not a great idea to separate...” Yukimaru began, but Hinoka shook her head.

“ He's not going to kill me,” she said. “ They've had their chances to do that. I... I will meet with him.”

“ Then go to King Garon, lord of the city of Nohr,” Camilla said with a smile, and drew back the curtain.

Inside Hinoka went, almost crawling, into a small clearing in the fabrics, where soft pillows were strewn about. One of the strange blue lights flickered in the open space's middle, casting odd shadows on the purple fabric walls; a teapot sat there, gently steaming despite no obvious source of heat, alongside two cups. One cup was before a pillow marked with her family's seal; the other sat before a strange-looking man, skin a pale and unhealthy white, decorated with black streaks, who sat on a giant blue-black pillow.

His eyes, graven and cold, bore into her.

“ Greetings, Princess Hinoka. Or do you style yourself a Queen? You seek a throne, after all.”

His voice was like a bottomless well. Somehow, Hinoka found her own tongue.

“ P-princess. I'm just a princess.”

He chuckled, dark and wet. “ _Just_ a princess. Well, take your seat; the tea is good green. I've been fond of it ever since I got here.”

He indicated the pillow and the cup, and she took her seat with some grace, sipping. Good tea; he wasn't kidding.

“ Thank you,” she said.

“ Civilization demands niceties, as it should,” he said. “ So, Princess Hinoka, you're here to beg a favor, I understand.”

She nodded her head. “ Yes. Rebellion against my... against King Takumi.”

“ I might be interested,” Garon said, taking a sip of his own tea. “ Is there anything you'd like to ask before we get down to brass tacks?”

“ What forces do you have to help me?” Hinoka asked.

“ The cities here, farthest from the capital, are less loyal,” Garon said. “ There is a quiet alliance, centered here on Nohr. An... understanding, that we will defend each other. We will rise up and join you, if I so give the word.”

Good... good. These were some of the biggest cities in Dagda, that'd give her a solid base for the first time since her rebellion began... somewhere to repair, heal, clean up and grow.

But... to have all this ready... it wasn't _Takumi_ he'd been planning on rebelling against. This was older, predated the current monster on the throne.

“ You've been preparing,” she accused. “ Ready to rebel, even before now- against my mother.”

To her surprise, he did not defend himself, but merely nodded.

“ I have,” he said.

Quiet in the air, for long moments, until Hinoka finally had to speak, or choke on the silence.

“ _Why?_ ”

Garon closed his eyes, sighed deep, before opening them again.

“ You cannot imagine the terrible things I have done,” he said. “ Evil in the deepest sense of the word. But when I came to myself, fully... I could stomach it no more. I _can_ stomach it no more. I can never atone for what I have done... but I can still help. I did not mean to end up in Dagda when I fled my past, but here I am, and I will not be a monster again. I take in orphans, protect the poor from their predators, seek to inflict justice on those who think themselves above it. I want to do good, Hinoka, I want to help. And my task is growing harder. Your land has been riddled with corruption for a long time, Hinoka. Poisoned. It is old, and like all old things, it is dying. Even in your mother's time, that was true.”

Hinoka swallowed. That was not an answer she'd expected, but it... it fit, with what she'd seen. Dagda, so grand, but so... _decayed_ , the land itself was run through with mildew and rot...

“ How... do I fix it?” she asked.

“ Do you mean how do you take your birthright, and your brother's throne?” the man asked, and Hinoka shook her head.

“ No,” she replied. “ How do I fix Dagda? How do I stop this... I've seen it, the way the nobility treats the poor, the injustice, the rebellions simmering in her guts. The way the law weighs too heavy on too many, and too lightly on the very people it should punish. How... how do I fix it?”

There was a long pause, and then the man smiled, a strange expression on his sour face. He smiled, and the aura of oppression and fear lifted; and somewhere inside, Hinoka felt like she'd... passed some test, gave the correct answer to a question she didn't know was being asked. His eyes, she realized, had been judging her, she saw that now that they'd softened... he'd been judging her, and harshly, but somehow she had not been found wanting.

She didn't know what to do with that. Princesses were rarely judged so openly... _perhaps because so many would fail_ , Hinoka's traitorous brain thought... but Garon's smile said she had passed, with colors flying high.

“ I have an answer,” Garon said. “ But it is a dire revelation indeed. Are you sure you want to know? You cannot go back to ignorance, once you know.”

“ I am ready,” Hinoka said.

“ Maybe,” Garon said. “ But it is a big thing. What can save your country... is nothing. There is no way to save Dagda, at least, not as it is.”

Hinoka almost burst out at that- he was toying with her- but she caught herself, and after a moment, thought about what he'd said.

“ ...What do you mean, Dagda 'as it is'?”

Garon grinned at her. “ Dagda, as it stands, is untenable. It needs a change- Dagda is too advanced to continue on like this. Dagda is one of the world's great powers, and it is on the verge of greatness... or of collapse. The system as it is cannot continue. It is too old, its bones too brittle, it will break under the weight of that change.”

“ But a republic, where there is a voice for every citizen, that might work. No more will nobles have such power... the law, changed to be for the benefit of all. Yes, a republic, that might be young enough to survive, that might be young enough that change will not kill it, but help it grow. Dagda could be a greater land, a _better_ land, if you will allow me to cut short the power of your throne, if you have strength enough to give that strength to the people.”

“ You will help me take my throne, but only if I destroy it?” Hinoka said, quirking an eyebrow at this audacious man's request; but Garon merely laughed.

“ That's the size of it,” he said. “ And I ask this of you, Hinoka, because I think you are strong enough to do it. Strong not just of body, but of spirit. I think you are strong enough to stand on your own; that of all Dagda's current nobles, you alone are so strong that you can weaken yourself. The conquest I ask you to complete is not merely of a throne, but of yourself... and I think you can do it. I think you might look at your people, and be one of the few great lords in history who will not make their yoke heavier, but endeavor to lift some of their burdens yourself.”

He smiled again.

“ So, Hinoka, I ask you this- are you strong enough to say yes? Do you have the power to save Dagda by _changing_ it, not just changing who sits on the throne but changing the nation entire? Can you conquer all Dagda, and all its history, and make something _new_ out of it?”

The Hinoka who, a few months ago, had trained in opulence and luxury, would have said something different; but this Hinoka had spent six months on the run, seeing the lives of the common people of her land. This Hinoka had been betrayed by her most reliable retainer and saved by her least. This Hinoka had met barbarians in their homelands who worshiped honesty, had danced with a rebel knight, had seen the fire in a man's eyes when he told her he would not be a monster, and told her what Takumi planned to do to Brigid, betraying his lord for a higher calling.

This Hinoka had eaten the common fare of average soldiers, had wrestled with the bizarre personalities of her rebel troops, had fought in defense of villages whose only crime was that they did not wish to be conscripted into Takumi's army and commit atrocities in his name. This Hinoka had wept for dead troops and slept on hard ground and grown sick as a dog from drinking filthy water, living only on the kindness of friends.

This Hinoka... this Hinoka was not the Hinoka who had left the Dagdan capital of Hoshido, all those months ago.

This Hinoka said, “ Yes.”

Garon's smile grew, and he chuckled.

“ Then Nohr will serve you, Queen Hinoka.”

He laughed, a big sound, rich as dark chocolate, and he yelled to his aid between his guffaws.

“ Camilla, bring in her servants! And tell the others- she's worthy! We're joining them, we're going to war, we march on Hoshido!”

And down there in the dark, listening to that shadowy man's laugh, Hinoka smiled, for she felt a light in her heart that she could only call _hope_.

-

Rise up, out of her head, never to return by these hands. Dagda is not our focus, after all, though it is a land with its own wants and needs and dreams. Let us leave.

But... perhaps that is rude. Hinoka was a terribly accommodating host, after all. Perhaps one more look won't hurt. Pray allow your guide to offer you one last swift, slicing glance forward into Dagda's future, as warm and enticing as a lover's smile.

Hinoka will win her war, even as Adrestian, Faerghi, and Brigid forces defend the islands successfully. She will kill her brother with tears in her eyes, and then begin the harder task. She will marry Camilla in time, and see all her allies risen high for their loyalty in her time of need.

She will sue for peace with Brigid, surrendering much to pay for her brother's actions, even as she reforms her nation and fights two more civil wars, both of which she wins; she will do so much, in fact, and reign so long- fifty years, longer than any other monarch- that she will be called Great Queen Hinoka, her fame eclipsing all Dagda's lords and ladies. Her story will last forever, even into the future, when Dagda rises from the ashes of its unrest as a nation of justice and dignity, to be one of the world's leading lights.

Garon will die twenty years into her reign, old age claiming the Agarthan at last, and he will die the content death of good old men, having finally brought more good into the world than evil. He will be mourned, not just by the four orphans he adopted, who called themselves his sons and daughters, but by all Dagda, for he was Hinoka's chancellor, and much of the good she did had its start in his wisdom.

But enough; we risk overstaying. Away, away, back north and east, to Fodlan. The war is brutal, and many die, though none that we know, even if they come close. Ionius and Addeir both almost die to a sadistic Kinshi knight, but Shamir saves them with a well-placed arrow; puppets almost kill Jake with whirring sawblades until Hanneman discovers that they do not like ice, which freezes up the delicate cogworks that they run on. Anna's ship sinks, but she is able to escape, though not before lamenting that she'd just been on a successful raid and that the sinking ship was packed with treasures.

( Cassandra had to restrain her from diving after it.)

Rhea does well, save that she keeps suffering something almost like heatstroke; when the news comes that Hinoka wishes to sue for peace, she is  _delighted_ .

But unbeknownst to her, in her absence, something has slithered through the dark of Fodlan... but let us save that tale for one last chapter.


	19. Interlude I: One More Time, Book Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've gotten roughly equal messages from people, either hating the Interlude or loving it, and I get ya. 
> 
> This was my first try at this kind of Interlude, and frankly it's too big, I should make it a separate fic; but I'm trying to FINISH fics, not start new ones, so I'll let it stand as it is.
> 
> I know I said five Interlude chapters, but I think ya'lls sick of these, so next chapter is ACT II, BABY! Claude tries to cook and Sylvain tries to look hot. Surely nothing else of plot importance happens!

**One More Time, Book Move**

One last dance. Then this narrator will return to omniscience and give up pronouns- tricky little bastards- and it'll be back to another Fodlan, where Rhea made no move to save Edelgard, where her siblings are dead, where her head is so stuffed full of rage and truth both that it is a wonder we can slip in sideways to hear her thoughts. A Fodlan were an Almyran man is trying to cook a dessert for his lovely girlfriend, where a red-haired son of the north will begin to walk his long road with a blue-haired son of the south.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, and behind. This timeline first.

Skip down the years. Agartha makes its moves, always quiet, always disguising itself as something else. Thales had focused on Adrestia; but Anselma chooses a different path. A son of Gautier, who knows he will be thrown out for lacking a Crest, is greeted by the most terrifying of faerie godmothers; he buys a Crest to be carved into his bones with his brother and father's deaths. Anselma keeps her word; a Crest is his. Two are hard to put inside someone, but she has research enough to give a person a single Crest... and thus empowered, Miklan joins the Agarthan cause.

He claims that his father had lied on the official forms, favoring his brother, and while many know it not to be true, other matters grip Faerghus soon, and the issue slips the mind. The House of Gautier becomes another secret base of Agartha, for Anselma- as she is calling herself now- does not wish to put all her eggs in one basket. She seeks to grow, to spread like cancer, to subvert with slow and deliberate intention all of Fodlan.

For this same reason, she slips towards another land- towards Galatea, which is starving- and there she offers its Lord the most poisonous of all deals; she offers agricultural tricks, potions and elixirs that increase the ground's fertility, if he will but offer himself up to them.

Pity him; his people are starving. Of all those who will agree to Agartha in the days to come- and there will be so many- forgive Galatea, if you have heart to forgive any of them. His people were starving. For the highest of ideals, for the greater good, he sells his soul. Galatea's bounty that year is good, but the year after, it is more abundant than it has ever been; his people eat, and the things his mysterious benefactor ask of him seem smaller, less terrible, in the face of full bellies and smiling commoners.

All throughout Fodlan does Shambhala slither, always ready with an offer, so long as you were ready to sign in blood. Acheron, of the Alliance, eagerly agrees, realizing only too late that they have sunk hooks deep into him with his greed. Lady Daphnel, whose House's fortunes are falling, also agrees to receive aid from strangers, and is horrified in time when she realizes just what it will cost her, like Galatea having sold her soul for the highest purposes. Grand Duke Riegan's son is hunted down and killed, throwing the succession into crisis, more chaos for Agartha to grow into, more shadows to slither in.

In Adrestia, she finds Metodey, former vessel of Vestra, and in return for a change of face, he gladly joins her cause... as does Duke Gerth, who had never quite gotten over losing the Civil War.

Others, dissociated with nations, are given aid- particularly a bandit named Kostas, and a merchant named Pallardo, who both become secretive eyes and ears for the slithering ones.

Two great experiments does Anselma perform in these times of dark blossomings. The first on an Adrestian girl, caught during the Civil War, who has no use to them; Anselma borrows her to have a plaything. She is experimented on in the depths of Anselma's personal lab, a girl with red hair, made a study of light magic by Anselma's sickening hands; Anselma twists and shreds the girl's DNA until she is semi-transparent, as though reality is losing its hold of her, the light around her automatically wiping away her presence. 

The girl screams every time, her high-pitched cries Anselma's favorite music, and her enjoyment means she misses a small thing- the flash of horror in the eyes of one of her Agarthans, who liked killing and sadism, but not to Anselma's degree. Seeing that Anselma's lust for pain was truly bottomless sparks a kind of instinctive rebellion in the Agarthan assassin, some horrified part of her heart that is still human past the vats and the genetic conditioning; despite herself, she has a heart, even if she does not understand its impulses.

( She did not know why she had killed the original Anselma, save that she was hurting, and some part of her wanted the other person's pain to stop.)

That terror reaches its peak when the murderer is brought to them. A boy who slaughtered his whole family; he turns out to be split inside, he has twin consciousnesses within him, and Anselma is delighted to experiment on him. She is, eventually, able to split him in two- she pulls Emile out of the Death Knight, separating them like flatworms on a surgical table. She has the monster kill the man, and gains her greatest servant- not Death's Knight but its Lord, a thing that could never be human again, that shared her love of inflicting pain.

It is this act that sparks betrayal; the Agarthan assassin can take no more. Introduced slowly to abomination, she would revel in it; but Anselma is too much, too soon, some ember of humanity inside the Agarthan is set to blazing light in the face of all this atrocity. The assassin named Kronya breaks the case that holds the girl once named Monica, and with the half-invisible girl in her arms, flees, running, running, finally taking refuge underneath the one place Agarthans feared to tread. 

Kronya will find that the girl she saved knows nothing of herself. She has lost things, in the torture. She will name herself Ghost after what terrified Abyssians keep screaming when they find her half-faded form, and Kronya will work to provide for them both, not understanding why it mattered to her, knowing only that it did, that there was a spark of emotions she had never felt before inside her chest.

( A sharp thing named  _ guilt _ ; a strong thing named  _ empathy _ ; a warm thing named  _ care _ . Byleth is not the only person whose heart will grow at Garreg Mach.)

They will eventually team up with a man named Hubert, a tall rogue who was gathering power, and wanted muscle for his work. Kronya for her combat skills, and Ghost for her talents as a spy, as she learned to control her affliction, turning invisible entirely for a few seconds, though it tired her; she never could fight, her body too frail for combat.

But it's not all victories for the abomination. They seek the first one, the girl she'd put two Crests in- her parents die saving her, and Lysithea runs, she is just a child and she runs, runs, until she finally reaches the Church. 

( Imagine her tears, losing her family again, losing everything, the Agarthans upon her again. Pity her.)

Recognizing Agarthan work on her, Rhea will order her kept in the Abyss; when Rhea is looking for someone to safeguard the child, she hears of Hubert, a mob boss who, curiously, has a well-developed sense of honor, and she will meet him, and judge him worthy. Lysithea will be put in his care, and he will grow fond of her, teaching her the ways of shadow he learned from books in the hidden libraries of the underground. 

Another kidnapping will fail. Constance will be taken from her home in the dead of night, and experimented on in secret in the dark; Baron Ochs will save her, once he hears that Nuvelle has lost a daughter, remembering his sweet Monica and so full of rage that he tears off to find her. He will save her, to the terror of the Agarthans, who find him an implacable juggernaut they cannot turn aside. He gets no answers- the one Agarthan he takes alive commits suicide rather than risk Anselma finding out he'd betrayed her- but it settles something in Ochs, to save a little girl when he could not save his own.

( It is that year that he will finally begin to look for a wife, willing at last to move on.)

Constance will be hurt forever afterward, a completely different person in the dark from the boisterous girl she is in the sunshine. Still, she is alive, and that is enough; and Edelgard, hearing of her condition, will write her, and the two will become friends, based on their shared suffering and mutual interest in magic, even if Constance leans to the arcane and Edelgard towards the divine.

Still, a few failures miss the great victory. Remember the matter that distracted Faerghus? That matter was this: K ing Lambert and his son both die. 

Oh, Lambert dies a terrible death, and at his own people's hands. The Agarthans pushed, but it was hatred for Lambert's reforms that drove his people to plot in the first place; nobles who disliked this king, who seemed so radical, who was bereft of his guardians with Rodrigue in the south. As he went a'hunting- his son's first hunting trip!- they ambushed him and his son, a full year before he usually died. Down he went, his last thoughts of his son, and the nobles stated bandits did it, falsely mourning before the crown passes to Rufus.

But this is the secret thing no one knows; the son did not die. Dimitri had run, and fallen into a river, carried by the cold water long miles until he was found. A passerby- a Duscur merchant, carrying smithed goods from his brother's forge- would rescue him, and bring him to his brother's house, and there Dimitri would meet a young child named Dedue and his family.

He would leave, after, wandering away in the night, but the horror of his story- the sheer scale of what he talked of to the Duscur family, of his torment and horror, of the evil his own kin perpetrated- would inspire a fire inside the smith; he would become famous among his people, pushing for greater defenses, for Faerghus could not be trusted now. A political movement began in Duscur, and power would accrue to the smith, who would prove an able hand with it; he would reinforce the land's borders, and build Duscur up to defend itself.

Dimitri will wander away; in time, he would stumble into Garreg Mach, to the Abyss, to be found by a fellow orphan. Many remarked on how much like the dead Prince he looked; Dimitri, heartbroken, afraid of his own people, would say nothing, and call himself a new name, Boar, after an insult a childhood friend tossed at him after a particularly nasty bit of roughhousing caused by his unnatural strength.

The boy calling himself Boar would be recruited by Hubert, once he noticed his impossible strength, joining Lysithea and Kronya and Ghost as something like a family, the pack growing strong in the dark. Eventually, Hubert will own all the Abyss,  his rule defended by Crest-driven strength, nimble swordplay, dark magic and invisible eyes... and kept stable by his own wisdom, by the incredible talent the boy, becoming a man, will display at managing the Abyss' affairs for the benefit of all.

( When Aelfric forms the Wolves, there is no question who will lead them.)

Other things happen, that have little to do with Agarthans or the Abyss. A girl wanders out of her home village and finds a healer named Cornelia. She is a good woman, this Cornelia, no Agarthan under her skin; she will treat Hapi so well that the little girl will stay, stay so long she will, eventually, forget how to go back home. Cornelia will comfort the crying girl when she realizes she cannot return, that she has been so happy with Cornelia that she has forgotten where her home is; Cornelia will spend a small fortune hunting futilely for it.

( A terrible irony; Hapi, suffering in another timeline, would never forget her home's location, for she would always regret leaving it, her home's location a dream she held onto in hopes of return. But this Hapi is, well,  _ happy _ , if you'll forgive me a pun, and had no reason to cling to the memory, and in that way of children forgot it entirely.)

Rodrigue returns, and Agarthan whispers will lead him to realize why his liege and his son died. Full of trembling fury, Rodrigue will start the Faerghus Civil War... but it is a short affair, it will last mere hours. Rodrigue, in secret, gathered those nobles who were involved to Rufus' estate, promising a tournament, and when they were making merry and drinking, he murdered the lot of them in a single go, including Rufus, who he was told by spies (by Anselma) was involved.

Miklan will help him, as will Galatea, both serving Agartha's desires; with so many nobles dead, after all, those Anselma had control of were able to grow, expand, tendrils digging deep. Gautier and Galatea both grow, absorbing more territory, and Rodrigue takes up the throne; the line of Blaiddyd is dead, and Fraldarius must take power.

Rhea will receive Rodrigue's explanation and apology both; he is a deeply religious man, and his evidence is damning, so Rhea signs off on his ascension, having no idea that she serves Shambhala in doing so. Felix, who has lost Sylvain and Dimitri both, becomes a Prince, and only his brother's presence keeps him from turning inwards... though he is cold in those days.

He grows colder when Ingrid is taken from him. Rodrigue is a King now, his sons Princes; Ingrid is too low to marry a King, and Rodrigue, apologizing to Galatea for breaking the marriage contract, searches for a new husband for her. Rodrigue is continuing Lambert's work, which he did not understand but did admire, and one of those works was opening Faerghus up to other nations; in hopes of it, Rodrigue contacts newly-militarized Duscur, confusing their structure for his own.

He asks for a son to marry Ingrid to, and the smith, who has given so much for his people, agrees to send Dedue. Duscur is not Faerghus, but if it will keep the bloodthirsty knights out of his country, if it will prevent horrors like what Dimitri described from befalling his people, the smith will give anything.

Even his son.

Dedue, whom the Faerghi confuse for a Prince, is assigned as her husband, though they have never seen each other. Rodrigue arranges for the Duscur to go to Garreg Mach; they can meet there, he thinks, and if the man of Duscur proves worthy, the marriage can proceed.

( Dedue, for his part, agreed willingly, remembering the horrors that had fallen out of Dimitri's lips, the things his people had done to their own king- and always, always, wondering what they would do to Duscur, if they were willing to murder their own lord.)

Felix, in a fit of rebellion, asks for Ingrid to be his retainer, regaining his last childhood friend; Ingrid will be delighted to go, knowing that serving Felix might be the one path she has to the knighthood she craves. She practices extensively, and keeps Felix on a tight leash, and Rodrigue accepts it as being for the best.

The Alliance carries on in peace, ignored by most, save when they need to buy something. Leceister bobs along, the land of chaos, ironically, the least changed... but least is not  _ un _ . The change that matters most at this point comes in the form of a young teenager with brown skin, who comes in some years later; a teenager who tours the Alliance with a pink-haired girl, the duo protected by a mercenary recommended to Grand Duke Riegan by Duke Gloucester. 

The mercenary had made his son a man, the Duke says to Riegan, so proud of the person his son has become that he is almost glowing in his recommendation. Goneril accepts, not wanting his daughter to be gallivanting around the country at all... but Grand Duke Riegan had asked him for the favor, and Goneril did not trust the little half-Almyran. He told his daughter of sixteen to watch the Almyran, to report back home of anything he did, and to hit him with an axe if he crossed her.

She agreed, and good Goneril bowmen accompanied her. Duke Goneril thought all was well, though Holst had to be subdued once he learned Hilda was now “in the arms of some teenage boy from a foreign land”, as Holst declared when he found out. 

Still, she would be safe. She had soldiers with her and an axe; what harm could be done?

Well... it wasn't  _ harm  _ that was done, per se, but Duke Goneril's plan backfired to a degree hard to describe, and all because Hilda obeyed her father's orders.

You see, she watched the teen, who called himself Claude, much more closely than she might have done otherwise. And that meant he watched her; and the two, who were so good at making others see what they wanted them to see, found they saw each other, and could not hide. Claude looked inside her, she looked inside him, and the fact they liked what they saw soon overwhelmed all other considerations. The tour across the Alliance became something like a lover's vacation; neither did anything physical with each other, too many guards watching, but their eyes lit up on seeing each other, and they were always chatting.

Even Byleth noticed, the mercenary's daughter accompanying her father, and she was a not-insignificant percentage  _ dead _ . Leonie, on her first mission with Jeralt as an official member of the Blade Breakers, was the only one who failed to see it, too focused on her duty.

They roamed, Claude meeting many, and wearing his Almyran heritage proudly, wearing an axe and Almyran colors. Many derided him; but some did not, and Claude kept mental notes, kept careful watch on who saw his skin and who saw him. A merchant house with blonde hair, that had a giant for a son; another blonde merchant house, whose son asked him to pose for a painting. 

( Raphael's parents lived; Duke Gloucester had sought other opportunities with Adrestia closed to him, and had no need to kill them.)

Duke Gloucester, who seemed to know what was really going on, whose son greeted him warmly, but was delighted to see Jeralt and Byleth again... and even more delighted to see Leonie, giving her a warm smile that made Hilda sigh. Margrave Edmund, and his daughter, who seemed spooked of her own shadow, who Hilda made a special effort to comfort and befriend.

All Leceister did Claude see; and when he returned home to Derdriu, he agreed to lead it, and was named his grandfather's successor.

Anselma was made aware of him, but dismissed him. Leceister would never follow someone so blatant in his foreign nature. The slightest stress would make the Alliance break.

( It is small wonder she underestimated him; of all Fodlan's leaders, Claude's bright chaos alone was the true antidote to Agartha's dark order, the one force they could not understand nor  _ with _ stand.)

And in Adrestia... well.  The Dagda War ends, or, as it will be called by Adrestians, the War of Repayment. The Adrestians and the Hammer will return home, and Rhea- who will spend half the war sick from something like heat stroke and half the war carving Dagdan heads off- will be so happy to return to Garreg Mach that she stays for two years, just enjoying the cold.

Shamir, not knowing what to do, will join the Hammer, almost angry that she lived. She will got to Adrestia and stay there, at Cassandra's side, and the dour woman will not realize why Cassandra is so invested in her- not until Christophe intervenes personally before he goes home, and sets the two on a path that, in a few year's time, will lead to a wedding. 

Things are at peace in Adrestia. Life carries on. Petra visits often, and writes even more often. Brigid goods flow everywhere and Adrestian goods flow back, each nation enriched by their alliance. Addeir comes by from time to time, and he and Ionius swap war stories, or simply tell tales of fighting bandits. Randolph gets Edelgard's sister pregnant, and she looks forward to being an auntie. Rhea visits, and Edelgard learns to look forward to those visits, in  _ many  _ senses of the word, particularly once she realizes that Rhea's archbishop robes hug her hips.

Skip ahead, to one week before Garreg Mach. Let us dream Edelgard's dreams for a while again, and see the world through her eyes.

-

Caspar's handwriting was still atrocious.

Edelgard flipped through the notes in her private study; as Crown Prince, she had a rather luxurious office. A flag of Seiros on one wall, beside the flag of House Hannah and the flag of Brigid; a few trophies on the wall opposite from bandit hunts and two monster hunts, all successful, mostly weapons and teeth. Her desk, a great beast of good Adrestian Gray Oak, and her chair, an exceptionally comfy thing in Adrestian reds and blacks.

She'd miss this office. She was going to Garreg Mach; her father had not, but after everything, it was a foregone conclusion Edelgard would go. Eighteen was a good age to go, a median, and there was nothing much going on in Adrestia at this time; no reason not to leave for a year.

Caspar had gathered information on who would make up the Black Eagles and the other Houses this year, then consolidated it into this single file of notes. Just sensible; you should always be prepared.

He was going too, of course. She would sooner lose an arm than his companionship or services. He was... warmer than she was, less driven, but often more practical; he kept her feet on the ground.

Still, she wished he had better penmanship. This looked like he had suffered a particularly powerful seizure halfway through.

Hmm...

The first page was just a short list of the names of those she already knew. Herself, of course, Caspar having included a small stick figure doodle of her looming over him next to her name. A grin spread on her face. It wasn't her fault he was only five foot two, and that she took after her dearly departed mother; five foot five was not usually considered tall, but Caspar was a late bloomer, like his father.

She brushed auburn hair behind her ear as she read the next name. Caspar had included himself, writing only that he was “overworked, underpaid, unappreciated” and including another stick figure doodle of himself slumped over a desk, sleeping.

Smirking, she moved on. Petra- young at fifteen, but she was so eager to go, she wanted to go the same year Edelgard did, and the Adrestian agreed. She wanted to be there, to keep watch on her; Petra was wise and strong, but Edelgard couldn't help but feel a bit protective of the younger girl. Caspar had given her no doodle, just the words “protect her”, underlined twice.

Edelgard wondered if he'd ever figure out his crush on Petra... she should probably tell him. Maybe after they got to the monastery.

Constance was the last name on the first page. Constance... she'd have to watch her. She didn't do well indoors. She'd arrange for their rooms to be near each other; Constance would need assistance while inside.

Well, that was a solid half of the officer class she knew. Not bad.

She turned the page to the first new name. Linhardt Hevring... hmm. She didn't know him well. Healer, all sources agreed; seemed to have a deep-seated regret for his family's participation in the Civil War, but it might be an act. Caspar didn't think so, but Caspar's notes pointed out they'd been friends as kids, so he might be biased.

_ Good Caspar _ , Edelgard thought warmly. Her good right hand, worth his weight in gold and then some. He never failed to think of every angle; you wouldn't think it of him, but he was startlingly smart. He was  _ simple _ , not  _ stupid _ .

Some other information, but that was the gist of it; Edelgard turned the page. Yuri Casagranda... now that was a weird choice. Why was an opera star going to Garreg Mach? She'd been to the opera a few times- she wasn't a big fan, to be honest, and neither was Caspar- but she recalled his mother, Manuela. Good singer. Yuri was, too, though he was more famous for how...  _ flirty  _ he was. Caspar's notes said he was looking for a spouse with money.

_ Look elsewhere,  _ Edelgard thought with amusement. She had no interest in an opera singer.

( Her interests were more...  _ worshipful _ .)

The page turned... Bernadetta von Varley. Hmm.

Father was killed in the Civil War... might bear a grudge... but then her mother had married a Church Knight? Hell, not just  _ any  _ Church Knight, she'd married Captain Alois! Hmm. An excellent rider... cheerful girl, Caspar reported. She'd become very good friends with Linhardt, apparently. Wanted to be a Church Knight, they said...

Hmm. That was almost too good to be true. She'd bear watching.

She put that stack away, reached for the Lions. Prince Felix, whose notes said “asshole”, which seemed fair enough from Edelgard's own recollection of their only meeting. His retainer, Ingrid Galatea... honorable, driven, due to be married to some guy from Duscur named Dedue who was attending this year as well. Apparently Faerghus was trying to open international relations... stupid. The Church allowed Brigid in because they had proven themselves; Duscur hadn't.

Still, Rhea was allowing it for now. Edelgard wondered why, but shook her head, kept reading. Ashe, adopted son of Lord Gaspard, adopted after the Faerghus Civil War as part of Rodrigue's reforms making it easier for nobles to adopt. Good archer, former thief, nice guy. Brother had fought in the Hammer's crusades...

She owed this man's brother her life and her family's life... she quietly prayed that he be rewarded well for it. Let him be happy, Goddess, for his kindness towards me.

A girl named Hapi... Cornelia's adopted daughter. That was interesting... Edelgard flipped ahead to Caspar's notes on the faculty. Yes... Cornelia was the Blue Lion's teacher this year, she'd started last year after she quit teaching at Fhirdiad's School of Sorcery. Caspar's notes said Hapi was a Duscur, but then had a sidenote that he didn't think she was, but couldn't figure out where she was from. Good mage though, fond of horses.

Rounding it out... Mercedes, a healer from Fhirdiad who was an Adrestian by birth- family died- wow, she was involved in the Bartels mess? That was one of Adrestia's big unsolved mysteries...

The last, though... Annette. Edelgard thought of a stained glass window, of a man she had never met, whom she nonetheless owed so much to. Of Faerghi flowers, blossoming quietly in Adrestia's gentle winters.

Annette... she wanted to talk to her. She'd call it luck, that she was attending this year, but Edelgard did not believe in luck.

_ Thank you, Goddess _ , Edelgard prayed quietly, and with her whole heart. 

( And inside Byleth, something trembled, and began to awaken.)

Annette was a mage, but “really buff”, in Caspar's words, liked hitting stuff with axes. Fun girl, trained all the time, best friends with Mercedes.

Edelgard turned to the last few pages. The Golden Deer- house of weirdos. Claude, an  _ Almyran _ , successor to Grand Duke Riegan and now going to Garreg Mach. That was damn near an insult, to send a foreigner to the center of the faith...

Goddess. He'd have assassins on him like flies drawn to carrion. Put butter on this man; he's toast. 

Besides the dead man, there was... more or less what she'd expected. A Goneril, a Gloucester, an Edmund, two merchant house scions, a mercenary commoner. A mish-mosh of commoners and nobles; typical Leceister. 

Quickly Edelgard glanced through the last notes, on faculty. Leceister had some new guy whose name she didn't recognize, the Lions had Cornelia... but the Eagles' new teacher was the one she cared about. She was actually kind of excited; Hanneman was teaching them this year! Hanneman Hammerhead, recently retired... she'd been honored to meet him, and now he'd teach her! She had to admit, it... it was going to be good.

Her door burst open and Caspar rambled in.

“  _ Caspar _ ,” she said, with no real heat.

“ El!” he said cheerfully. “ Read my notes?”

“ Just finished,” she said. He sat down next to her.

“ Good, cause... cause I got something real important to say.”

“ Okay?” she said, confused.

“ El,” Caspar said, using the nickname her siblings had given her, that friends used, “ I... I'm gonna make a request.”

“ What is it?” she asked, his tone indicating he was trying not to laugh.

“ I know you've got your, uhh, thing about Rhea,” he said, voice almost squeaking as he fought not to laugh. “ So I'm gonna come out and say it, for the- heh- for the good of Fodlan.”

“ Oh?” she said, smiling despite herself at his tone.

“ Edelgard von Hresvelg,” he said in mock seriousness, “ I am begging you, on my knees; do not fuck the Archbishop.”

She lost it, laughing, and he laughed, too, almost crying with it.

“ Caspar, I never!” Edelgard said, putting a hand dramatically to her heart. “ How dare you accuse me of impure thoughts regarding the gorgeous, well-built, powerful Rhea...”

“ Look, I'm just... I'm just saying,” Caspar said, still laughing. “ You watch that woman's ass like it's got your name written on it, you have... you are  _ never  _ going to get through a whole year without her figuring it out. She's going to send the Hammer after you. She's out of your league anyway- and out of your age range. She's like a hundred years old!”

“ Some people age like fine wine,” Edelgard said with a shrug. “ Crests work out like that. I've got a Seiros Crest too, a lot of us live a long time. Who knows? Maybe a hundred years from now I'll still be kicking.”

“ El,  _ no _ ,” Caspar said, still giggling. “ You  _ can't _ . The Kingdom already thought your dad was fucking her!”

“ Maybe Faerghus had a point!” Edelgard announced, grinning.

“ Man, I should make Fleche your retainer, somebody else should put up with your shit,” Caspar said, as he made ready for the trip.

-

Far north, Hubert looked at the notes Ghost had gathered for him.

“ Edelgard, huh?” he said. “ Now isn't that interesting.”

“ You... know her?” Boar asked.

“ Once,” Hubert said. “ I died for her, almost.”

“ Ooh, tell me more!” Kronya said, from her position sitting on top of a bookcase, because Hubert had never managed to convince her to just sit in a chair like a normal person. “ Did it hurt?”

“ Was it romantic?” Lysithea snarked.

“ Yes and no, respectively,” Hubert answered. “ Gonna be an interesting year...”

-

Let us close the door. It is time to return. Migrating birds circle in patterns, but they always head home eventually. 

Let us say but one last thing. The three groups of nobility will meet near Garreg Mach; Kostas, empowered by Agartha, will jump them. Jeralt and Byleth, guarding Claude and the Deer, will fight him, as will Alois, who is accompanying his daughter. Caught, Jeralt will be dragged to Garreg Mach, and much will happen. Byleth will teach the Deer; Edelgard will try, desperately, not to act like a smitten idiot in Rhea's presence. Byleth will meet a man calling himself Boar; the three Houses will unite in defense of the Fourth. Claude will prove his greatness; a battle will rage, and Byleth shall sleep five years.

Many things will happen, but you will not read of them from these hands, not yet.

Let us leave it be, for now. Let it pass as a hallucination, or a dream, or a shadow before the sun.

Breathe deep... and wake up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll liked this! 
> 
> Note: if anyone wants to write more in this timeline AU, feel free! Just credit me. I'm totally fine with this being written about. The words for more won't come from MY hands, but there are other hands.


	20. II.I: The First Day of the Fall, Helpmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Main Timeline now. No more Time Shenanigans- well, no more Time Shenanigans that aren't Byleth's fault, anyway.
> 
> Onward and upward! This time... WITH THE BLUE LIONS. Been saving these guys. You'll see....

**ACT II**

**Sable Storm**

**Chapter I**

**The First Day of the Fall, Helpmate**

**10 th day of the Horsebow Moon, 1180**

He woke up after a long night of nightmares, blunted by nothing. A retainer, loyal for years, was currently getting ready to help him get through the day, having already arranged his schedule and prepared what he needed, though his task was badly hampered by the contempt he was held in, the looks and the other, less gentle abuses he was subjected to for the color of his skin.

He woke up, and simply lay there in his bed for a long moment, struggling to control his breathing, and his wildly beating heart.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Slowly, slowly, the voices receded, and he was able to school his face into something... normal. Right. Fit for a prince. But the mask of sanity he put on top of the things that were destroying him was... fragile, it did not match his real face; his tusks kept poking out. The eyeholes didn't line up right; people kept... they kept _seeing_ him. Felix first, in that battle, where he had managed to horrify the most sharply-edged teenager in Faerghus; more recently in the woods, before the new professor and his fellow royals. The others have a sweet tale to tell; Edelgard, in danger, saved by Claude, who in turn was saved by Byleth. A heroic tale, something to laugh about later.

His memories of the battle are the same as his memories of every battle he has ever been in. The sweet satisfaction, the focus on the present blurring his past, the sweet silence in his head when he makes his enemies scream. The bandit's horror as his spear strike broke the man's arm, the way the other bandit he'd killed had stared in horror at the hole in her guts before he brought his spear down again, cracking her skull.

How nice it had all been. How beautiful.

How  _ashamed_ he was, after, as he always was, when the adrenaline faded out and the voices returned and he realized how he'd acted. How dirty he felt, bathing that night at Garreg Mach, he had scrubbed and scrubbed and  _scrubbed_ , trying to get the thing inside him  _out_ , trying to tug the Beast out of his skin until his flesh ached and he was crying quiet tears, knowing the night would give him no respite.

( He has dreamed of flaying himself, of tearing off his skin and ripping out his veins, convinced that if he just hurt himself  _enough_ , he could dig the Boar out of his heart and be the man he thinks he's supposed to be.)

Byleth had seen it. He doesn't know if Edelgard and Claude did; well, he's certain Edelgard did not see, she kept looking at Claude, so obvious even blind eyes could have seen it. Claude might have seen, he was clever, but he had made no indication he had...

But Byleth? She saw.

( In those moments when Sothis and Byleth looked, only one of the three truly saw how perceptive the strange woman was; he saw the flicker in her eyes when she looked in his, when she saw past the mask of a man and saw the animal inside. He knew it must have repulsed her, as it repulsed Felix, as it repulsed everyone who saw it... the way it repulsed him, inside.)

Breathe out.

He wasn't sure when he'd figured out the breathing thing. At some point in the interminable nightmares, he'd realized the technique for calming down; he knew nothing else. Breathing like this helped. Slowed a heart racing fast, calmed his trembling mind, his shaking hands.

...He had something to do today. He couldn't remember it, though. Not right now. He did that, sometimes. Things just... slipped out of him, he couldn't hold them like he was supposed to.

He glanced towards the open window with eyes just now clear enough to see; from the light steraming in, he guessed it to be late morning. He hoped he hadn't missed whatever it was...

But no, Dedue would not have allowed it. Dedue, ever-faithful, would have woken him, made sure he made it to wherever he needed to be, as he had done for him ever since

( _we died we died you couldn't stop it they wouldn't listen it's your fault avenge us kill them kill them all!_ )

Breathe in.

He had no plans for the day. He had no plans for the rest of his life, save the certainty that he had to restore Duscur, that he had to make up for his failure to protect them from his countrymen by bending those very countrymen to their restoration. If not for that goal- if not for Dedue- then...

( Marianne is not the only person at Garreg Mach who dreams of death's peace, who has thought the burden of living even one more day might be too much to carry.)

Breathe out.

His will was weak; he barely had strength to arise. His suffering was too heavy, he had not the strength... he could not grow or change, he could not get past this monster inside him, neither the one made out of his memories or the one made out of  _him_ .

His name was Dimitri, and he had no idea what he was going to do today.

...But the day still moved on, and he didn't want Dedue to find him like this. Dedue never said a word, never mocked him, never spoke of how shameful it was that Dimitri needed tending like a child; but he didn't need to. The voices spoke for him.

Out of a desire not to put any more burdens on Dedue than he already did, out of a desire to do _something,_ Dimitri found the strength inside himself to sit up.

Not an easy task. He felt like a story he'd heard, one the Sreng barbarians told, of a god forced to carry the world on his shoulders as punishment for some foul deed; he felt like that god, punished with these burdens, heavy as all the world.

But somehow, he managed to rise up. A moment later, the second miracle occurred; he was able to stand on his feet.

_Hallelujah,_ he blasphemed quietly, with bitter amusement. At least he was safe in the knowledge that the Goddess didn't care; she had been quiet during the horrors he had suffered and the horrors he had inflicted, after all. He doubted that a little mockery was what would inspire her to finally intervene in his life, after all the desperate prayers he'd made during the Tragedy, begging her to help.

( Twice in Byleth's life before the monastery has she felt oddly uneasy, and dreamed strange dreams; once, when she was twelve, she dreamed of a ship, of a little girl praying desperately for her family, auburn hair swaying gently with the ship's bobbing in the water. Once again, when she was seventeen, and had her first nightmare, of a screaming boy with blonde hair amidst a field of corpses, black skin stained with red blood. She has forgotten both dreams, her dead heart dismissing them on waking as mere fantasies... but she did dream them, as Sothis turned over in her sleep.)

The breeze through the window swept over his brow, slick with the sticky sweat of fear, and he took a moment's comfort from it. The first kiss of autumn here in the south; he was so used to his northern home that this area in the central part of Fodlan was too hot for his tastes. At least the Monastery was centrally located, in the area some wit had named Fodlan's Jaw; Dimitri couldn't even imagine what it'd be like further south. From the stories the Adrestians told, true Adrestian summers might well melt him like ice in a heat wave.

Still, he went over and shut his window. Experience had taught him he couldn't leave it open, even if he couldn't sleep with it shut; rain came unpredictably down here. In Faerghus, the seasons worked a tight schedule, but weather was unpredictable here in Fodlan's middle; cloudbursts could pop up out of clear blue skies, almost without warning. He'd ruined a few of his things leaving the window open while he was out, returning to a room somewhat more waterlogged than he'd left it.

He dressed himself, in a Prince's fine clothing. Not that he knew much of fashion himself; but he knew he was supposed to... to act a certain way, and he tried. He tried to be a Prince. So he'd gotten good at... a sort of copycat act. He wore things that he saw others of appropriate station wearing, and hoped he wasn't making a mess of it, as he made a mess of so many other things.

His panic rose; he paused standing up, and took a deep breath.

Breathe in.

A knock on the door, two soft taps, a sound Dimitri found comforting after all this time.

“ Come in, Dedue,” Dimitri said, making one last careful adjustment to his shirt. He'd ripped more than a few of these by accident, as unable to control his strength as he was to control his nightmares.

Dedue opened the door and stepped in, all careful ritual. He was so aware of the way other people saw him, all the time, the world weighed so heavy on him; Dimitri wished he could do something about that, but he wished for so many things, and, well.

If wishes were horses, and riding beggars, and all those sayings, still true for peasants and princes both.

“ How are you feeling today, your Highness?” Dedue asked. Once, he'd called Dimitri by name, but no more, too aware of how it sounded, too aware that his very presence hurt Dimitri politically, that the more familiar with a man of Duscur the Prince was, the lower his standing in the eyes of his fellows.

_I'll fix it_ , Dimitri swore to himself. He would restore Duscur, if he did nothing else... even though, inside, he wondered _how_ he'd do such a thing. He had all the political astuteness of a stone; even Dedue was better at this than he was.

“ I'm alright,” Dimitri lied, and Dedue, in an act of great kindness, did not call him out on it, though the stoic teenager's eyes softened with concern for a moment.

“ If you are able,” Dedue demurred quietly, “ then the Lady Cornelia has requested our presence. She wishes to meet all the Blue Lions, and in our classroom; she is already there, alongside two attendants. Though, strangely, she requested that Professor Hanneman not attend.”

“ I... why?” Dimitri said, mentally remarking _Ah, that's what I forgot. Lady Cornelia._ “ Why did she not want the Professor to be present?”

“ Her statement was that she wished to meet us without having our teacher watching, so she could see us in a more natural light,” Dedue said.

“ I... can sort of understand that,” Dimitri said. “ I wonder what kind of person she is.”

“ Have you not met her before?” Dedue asked.

“ At a few of the more important royal functions,” Dimitri said. “ But I doubt we've exchanged more than a dozen words. I know very little of her, save that she is supposedly a great healer.”

Dedue made a non-committal noise, his way of indicating he knew nothing more on a topic. Perhaps a Duscur habit, perhaps just a Dedue habit; impossible to tell, at this late point, after... everything.

Fighting off the memories, and for once, winning, Dimitri said, “ Is there anything else on the list today?”

“ Today is the last free day before classes begin again; we have nothing more on the schedule besides sword-training with the orphans. I was also able to secure a training axe for young Lex, as well.”

“ Good,” Dimitri said, an honest smile popping up on his face. Teaching the little ones was one of the few things he really enjoyed. “ I don't know much axework, but I can teach the basics.”

“ I will teach him,” Dedue said. “ If your Highness would not mind the company.”

“ Dedue, I ask so much of you,” Dimitri said, frowning. “ Teaching the orphans is something I chose to do; I don't want to drag you into it as well. I know you don't have much free time.”

“ It is no trouble,” Dedue said. “ He is of Duscur. He will need to know how to defend himself.”

There was nothing Dimitri could say in the face of that truth, so he swallowed, nodded, and moved on.

“ Is everyone else already gathered?” he asked.

“ Everyone but Felix and Sylvain,” Dedue said. “ We are not late, however. The others are early, which is why I waited to wake you.”

“ It would have been fine,” Dimitri said, but Dedue shook his head.

“ You need rest, your Highness. You also need to eat; once the meeting is over, you will eat.”

His tone didn't change, but somehow it still brooked no defiance- not that Dimitri felt like offering any. Dedue was probably right, at any rate, though the Prince didn't feel hungry. Ever since his tongue had went numb in his mouth, he found he'd stopped paying attention to his meals. He'd have wasted away if it wasn't for Dedue... but “if it wasn't for Dedue” was something he could append to half his life at this point. Of all the debts he owed both the living and the dead, the debt he owed Dedue was the greatest by far.

( Dimitri had saved Dedue's life once; Dedue had saved Dimitri's life every time he pulled the Prince out of his own head.)

“ Let's go get them, then,” Dimitri said, sighing. Felix... he was _not_ looking forward to that confrontation... and Sylvain, well. “ Any idea where Felix and Sylvain are? As House Leader, I should... probably go get them.”

“ Felix is in the training room,” Dedue said, which was exactly where Dimitri expected him to be. “ Sylvain is, I believe, still in his room.”

Damnation.

“ Is he... err, occupied?” Dimitri asked, fumbling awkwardly around the question. Sylvain's casual sexuality sort of spooked the Prince, who was such a mess internally that the idea of... being with someone... hadn't even crossed his mind until he was forced to see the endless parade in and out of Sylvain's room.

( In private, Dimitri wasn't even sure what he liked, what he wanted, what he might be... interested in. Too much else going on in his skull to worry about his other head.)

“ Experience says it is most likely,” Dedue answered carefully, aware of how flustered this sort of thing made Dimitri.

“ Perhaps we'll knock and then wait downstairs, then,” Dimitri said. After the first time a naked Sylvain had popped his door open to tell him to quit it, he had no desire to repeat the experience. He'd already known Sylvain was a natural redhead, he hadn't needed confirmation.

“ As you wish, your Highness,” Dedue said. Dimitri sighed, and headed out his door, ready to deal with whatever combination of embarrassment, awkwardness, and nakedness awaited him beyond Sylvain's door.

He hoped someone else was having a better day than he was.

-

Claude was having a good morning as he popped into the school's library and saw just the man he'd been hoping to see.

“ Hey Hubert! Got a question for ya.”

The addressed dark mage, in one of the library's corners, turned and arched an eyebrow at Claude, and the half-Almyran took a moment to admire Hubert's sheer gothic malevolence. The man was more sinister than any three treacherous viziers of Almyra's fairy tales combined. In the library, with the lights relatively dim, it was only enhanced; Hubert looked like the world's most terrifying librarian, with that little book in his pale hands.

“ What would that be, Lord Riegan?” the tall man said, voice low and dark. Claude bit back a chuckle of amusement. Even when he was being friendly, Hubert was, well, _Hubert._

Claude had no idea why Edelgard let the man be so imposing; maybe it was an Adrestian thing. Perhaps they thought the Emperor's retainer should be kind of scary.

( The truth was simpler and sweeter both; Edelgard knew she demanded so much of Hubert that she could not bring herself to demand he mask his true nature too. She put so many burdens on him; she could at least let the theatrically dark man be himself, even if having a more pleasant retainer would have made her life easier.)

“ I'm making something for Edelgard,” he said. “ Food-wise. What's she prefer? I know she likes sweets, but that's a broad category. She prefer cakes, cookies, hard candies...?”

Hubert pondered his question with lips pursed for a second, resembling a perched raven debating murder.

_No wonder he's so thin_ , Claude thought. _Being so relentlessly grim has got to burn a lot of fat._

“ Lady Edelgard rarely indulges herself,” he said. “ But... she enjoys new things. She has eaten a great many varieties of cookie, a few smaller varieties of cake... she has always been slightly more fond of fruit flavors than chocolate or vanilla, though she likes all three. If you have any new recipes- perhaps a Leceister specialty, or something farther afield- that would most likely please her best.”

Claude nodded, hearing what Hubert wasn't saying about his heritage- but that gave him an idea. “ Thanks, Hubert. Do you want me to bring them to you first? I know you'll want to test for poison.”

Hubert chuckled, favoring Claude with a smirk. “ Deliver them to Lady Edelgard herself. I'll test them later.”

“ Thanks,” Claude said.

“ You're quite welcome,” Hubert said graciously. “ Though, I must ask; why food? You are not known for being a cook, Lord Riegan.”

“ Oh, I don't know about that,” Claude said, thinking of the poisons he'd concocted. That was cooking, too, just with the opposite intended effect. “ But it was either this or poetry and I don't have time to make a good poem. The Deer are heading out in three days; if I had a month, I could write her something good, but I've got half a week, so food it is.”

Admittedly, he'd already started writing it- but it was just a... a vague idea, for now, a dream on thin paper in his desk, something he was almost half-embarrassed to put down. He didn't much like thinking of that poem, right now.

(He had surprised himself with the things spilling out of his pen onto the paper, an open wound from his heart to his hand; he had bled all over the paper, and been stunned to find he'd sketched an outline of his real self there. He had written of how much he admired her, of how strong she was, that she reminded him of tales he'd loved as a child of Almyra's warrior-queens, of how delighted he was that in the person of this Adrestian girl he had found someone like the heroines of old. He had written of how he loved her _protectiveness,_ of how he had heard what she offered him over the chessboard when he spoke of Rhea, of her hug the night after he'd almost died, of how _safe_ she'd made him feel. Safety, a thing Claude, outsider all his life, craved...)

No, no, the poem wasn't ready. Might not ever be ready.

“ Leaving on the thirteenth?” Hubert said, raising an eyebrow. “ How... interesting.”

“ Why, Hubert!” Claude said with a laugh, glad to be pulled out of his musings about the poem in his desk. “ I never took you for a superstitious man.”

“ Oh, I'm not,” Hubert said. “ But many are, and troops who _think_ a number is inauspicious will often fulfill such a prophecy themselves by acting more cowardly than normal. What will you be doing?”

“ Monster hunting,” Claude said. Hubert was fishing for knowledge, but Claude- who did the same damn thing- didn't see any reason to hide what would be common knowledge soon. “ Technically we haven't gotten permission yet, but Rhea's not gonna tell us no. The only reason we're waiting a few days is to make sure Lysithea's totally recovered.”

“ How long do you expect to be gone?” Hubert said. “ It must be significant if you are trying to give Edelgard a parting gift.”

“ Couple of weeks, at best,” Claude said. “ Probably the rest of the month, honestly.”

“ A rough task ahead,” Hubert said. “ Do be careful. I'd hate for you to gift Lady Edelgard some treat or another, and then die on her. It would bring her great sorrow.”

“ I don't intend to die,” Claude said with a laugh. “ Anyway, I'm taking off. Where will Edelgard be tomorrow, if you know?”

“ Most likely at the stables,” Hubert said. “ An albino wyvern has been born, and she has taken an interest in it. She rather likes nature, as I believe you are already aware; she is sketching the animal.”

_Albino wyvern, huh?_ Claude thought, his mind flashing to the place such beasts had in Almyran legend- the mounts of kings and queens, the great beasts made special by the hard circumstances of their lives. Claude had always thought he was a bit like those beasts, himself...

“ Interesting,” Claude said. “ Well, thank you again for the help, Hubert.”

“ You're welcome,” Hubert said, turning back to his book.

Claude left, thoughts running in his head... primarily, how he was going to afford all that sugar.

-

Sylvain woke up naked, bleary, and with a girl next to him.

_Must be a free day_ , he thought to himself, as he tried to figure out _why_ he was awake. His window, shut for privacy, had turned the room into a hothouse, but his girl was an Adrestian; she liked the heat. She even had a sheet on her, for some Goddess-forsaken reason; Sylvain lay on top of it, his Faerghi skin desperately trying to cool itself.

A sound again, that his ears were finally able to translate for his brain; a knock. Fuck. Someone was knocking. Sylvain rose up to a sitting position, feeling how the sweat was sticking bits of him to other bits of him; he paused, adjusting one particularly uncomfortable situation between his legs, before speaking.

“ What?” he called. _Please don't be Felix, he's always such a bitch when he catches me with a girl._

“ Umm,” came an awkward voice from outside, “ Sylvain?”

_Thank you,_ Sylvain sent to the Goddess. “ Dimitri, I'm a bit busy at the moment.”

The girl next to him, whose name Sylvain didn't care enough about to recall, muttered something, and despite the door being in his way, Sylvain could _feel_ Dimitri blushing.

“ I-I... Lady Cornelia requested our presence...”

Sylvain quickly checked the clock next to his bed. The- somewhat expensive- Leceister-made device told him what his gut had believed to be true.

“ I've got half an hour, Dimitri.”

“ Just... just making sure you know. The others are there early.”

_Why?_ Sylvain wondered, before his brain filled in the details for him; his private curse, he supposed, he was too damn smart to turn his brain off entirely. _Ingrid because she's Ingrid and wants to prove something, Ashe because he's nice like that, Annette because she's overeager about everything, and... I have no idea why the two new guys would be there. They've been with us a while, but they're kind of stand-offish, always talking to each other in quiet corners... which, I mean, they're together, but still, it's kind of weird._

_Hey, wait, Felix has no reason to be there early._

“ Felix isn't there,” Sylvain said, guessing, and Dimitri's sigh a minute later told him he was right.

“ We're going to get Felix,” Dimitri said. “ Just... please come along when you can, Sylvain.”

“ Hold on,” the redhead said. “ I'll go get Felix. You two head on. Meeting's in the classroom, right?”

“ Yes,” Dimitri said. “ ...Be seeing you.”

Footsteps leaving, Dedue's soft tread, Dimitri's heavier march. It didn't take a genius to know why; Dimitri had never figured out how other people saw him, Dedue was never allowed to forget, so one moved loud and one moved quiet.

...It was too early to be so cynical.

Sylvain rolled his eyes and got up. The girl murmured something he didn't quite catch, but he didn't need the words to know what she'd said.

“ Getting up,” he replied. He went over to his dresser; a bowl of water, a washcloth, a towel, and finally some cologne, all of which he'd prepared last night before his nightly recreation. He washed off quickly, wiping away the night's excesses, before drying off with the same long-practiced motions. A quick spray of cologne to cover any lingering scents, and the nineteen-year-old was ready to get dressed and go out.

The girl slept through all this; he wasn't surprised, she'd been pretty wild. He'd been right about the chess game setup; girls thought it was some noble fad, given how famous Edelgard and Claude's games were, and the smarter ones had flocked to his table. This one in particular had been transparent in her desires, he could almost _see_ the gold glinting in her eyes when she looked at him, the way this Adrestian noblewoman thought she could make herself a lady of House Gautier with Sylvain's seed.

A flash went through him, an ugly impulse to reach over in the bed and _hit_ her, beat her, let her know just how much _contempt_ he held for her, for all the women who looked at him and saw nothing more than a vessel through which Crests could be gained. Cracks in his facade, deep fissures in the dirt of his heart, that revealed the hatred that slithered under his skin.

He kept it in check, the way he controlled all those ugly impulses, that were breeding underneath his skin, that bubbled like magma underneath good earth.

He'd gotten good at that over the years.

The thought brought a smile to his face as he popped his cologne back into a side drawer and caught a glimpse of the small bottle of grey liquid inside that drawer. He'd gotten good at a lot of things over the years, particularly with his father's training; his dad was an asshole, but damnation, if he didn't know what he was doing.

It had been his dad who had taught him the grey liquid's particular little formula, and drilled it into his head until he could brew it up in his sleep. Admittedly, the recipe was a simple thing. It didn't take many ingredients, had no real side effects, and only did one thing: it rendered a man completely sterile, but not impotent, for a week.

_You can't trust the girls to take precautions, they_ _ **want**_ _to get pregnant by you_ , his father had warned him. _There are other methods but all of them are fallible. Drink this potion, and always,_ _ **always**_ _make it yourself; it's too easy to pay off an apothecary to “accidentally” make a mistake. Have your fun, but do_ _ **not**_ _shame this House._

The knowledge had paid off; it let Sylvain live his current lifestyle without planting a bumper crop of bastards. It even had the added benefit of leaving many of the girls thinking they'd pulled one over on him, unaware that no matter what they did in bed, it wouldn't leave them with a claim to his Crest or his hand in marriage.

It pleased him, inside, to think of their faces when they realized they weren't quickening, it made those ugly impulses in him _quite_ happy, to make a fool of these girls, who were trying to trick him.

...But enough of that. Time to move on to more pleasant subjects... but another ugly impulse struck him. This one _had_ been rather blatant, and that pissed him off; did she think he was _stupid_ , that he didn't _see_ what she was after?

( Nobody ever saw him, nobody ever saw him, he was somebody to fuck on your way to the top, he was so _angry_ like an earthquake inside him fissures splitting open he was so _angry_ he hated them so _much_ )

He dressed himself, and as he got to the door, he turned with a blinding smile towards the bed.

“ Honey?” he said, voice slick with arsenic sweetness. Just this once, he'd indulge himself.

“ Mmhyes?” she mumbled, rising up, blinking, reaching for the glasses she'd left on his nightstand.

“ When you leave,” Sylvain said, still in that falsely sweet tone, “ take all your things. Don't come back. I never want to see you again.”

The shock on her face was magnificent.

Sylvain whistled as he walked to the training room.

It was a fine morning.

-

“ So you need... _how much_ sugar?” the redheaded merchant asked, putting a finger to her chin. “ That's... are you trying to give someone honeywater?”

“ What's that?” Claude asked, curiosity provoked.

“ Eh, never mind,” Anna answered, shaking her head. “ Not my business. What _is_ my business is how you intend to afford it. Riegan must have a hell of a budget for you to blow it on sugar.”

“ It's not _that_ much sugar-”

“ It's a pretty good amount,” she said. “ Whatever you're making, surely you could substitute honey for at least some of it? Honey's cheap!”

“ Not for this,” he said, and wondered why in the _world_ he'd thought this was a good idea. Sugar was easy to come by in Almyra; they traded with some of the eastern marsh-countries for it, places Fodlan didn't even know existed, that weren't on any map he'd ever seen in this place. But here in Fodlan, getting sugar was like trying to move a mountain.

Anna gave him a side-eye, then sighed as she finished doing some sums on a piece of paper and presented the bill to him. “ Okay, well, here's the total. I don't take payment in anything but gold, so don't offer me your arm, your leg, or firstborn children. Jake made me quit taking those in, we never had a use for them.”

“ Lot of people offering you firstborns?” Claude said, unable to keep from grinning, even as the listed price made him quail. He could pay it, but it'd eat his savings, and he'd be dry on cash until his next payment from Leceister came in.

( Partly it was a disbursement from Riegan's finances- effectively an allowance, which amused Claude- and partly a recoupment of his own investments in Derdriu. Fascinating idea someone had come up with; you put money into a company, and if they made money, you made money. Not an idea anyone in Almyra had ever had... something to introduce. The risk involved would appeal to the warriors, he thought.)

“ You'd be surprised,” Anna said dryly, before perking up. “ One guy offered me a third-born, though! I almost took him upon it just because it was so unusual. Nobody offers up a _third_ -born! It had rarity value. I'm pretty far down the line in my own family, so I felt me and the baby could have connected.”

“ That'd be kind of funny to hear,” Claude said. “ King goes up to the fairy elder and is like 'look, I'm not giving you a firstborn, but hey, what about a secondborn? I'll toss in the fourth kid free!' Now _that's_ a story I want to hear!”

Anna laughed. “ You should write that play, we need more comedic operas. Adrestia's gotten _way_ into grim and dark stories recently, it's boring me to tears. I think it's because Dorothea's up here in Garreg Mach. Mittelfrank lost their best singer, and they swapped to dark and grim stuff because the next best one they had is this baritone guy... and now everybody's copying them, because it's Mittelfrank, so of course they are.”

Claude shrugged as he- with some reluctance- pulled out his coinpurse, and counted out his gold. “ Not big on opera,” he said. “ More of a poetry guy.”

( Almyrans had little love for theatre, but poetry readings- and poetry in general- remained a national obsession, as it had for centuries.)

“ And a sugar guy,” Anna said, cheerfully pocketing his funds. “ And with that, well, I always hold customer satisfaction in highest regard. Where you want this mess delivered?”

“ Kitchen tent,” Claude said. “ I'm going to be taking over one of the stoves. Oh, hey, you feel like tossing on some cream of Almyra for free?”

“ Free?!?” Anna spat out, scandalized.

-

The training arena had been closed in the wake of Jeritza's arrest, but now it was open... and inside, of course, was Felix.

He was alone; no one else was present, save a single Knight of Seiros outside who was, nominally, in charge of the grounds. Still, he seemed content to ignore Felix, and Felix, who was always content to ignore other people, did nothing to dissuade him. As Sylvain slipped into the training grounds, Felix was in the middle of finishing a training exercise, meant to help the body move with the blade, swordplay and footwork all in one.

Sylvain's breath caught in his throat, just for a second, watching Felix at the one thing he truly excelled at, the angry young man's face clear of anything but concentration as he and his sword moved as one. It was... it was beautiful. Like a dance.

( _I wish he would dance with me_ )

Sylvain recovered before Felix noticed his presence, and turned a scowl on him.

“ I'm not attending the meeting,” he said. “ I don't care if some pretentious Fhirdiad celebriteis are here at Garreg Mach. That's not my business.”

“ You're a Fraldarius, Felix,” Sylvain said, trying a gentle approach. Felix was like a particularly weird cat; sometimes being gentle worked, sometimes you had to smack him, sometimes nothing worked and he would just hare off to do whatever the hell he was going to do anyway. Even Sylvain, who had better luck than most, just had to guess how he'd respond on any given day. “ You'll be expected to be there.”

“ So?” Felix said. Sylvain had to concede the point; Felix didn't give a damn what anyone thought. So... Plan B.

“ You know, if you practice by yourself,” Sylvain said, “ you won't get any better.”

“ I'll learn more than standing around listening to the self-important blow smoke up their own asses,” Felix said. “ Besides, being that near the boar makes my sword hand itch.”

Well. Time for the sacrifice play.

“ I'll practice with you,” Sylvain said. “ Once it's done. My schedule's clear for today.”

“...Is it?” Felix asked, voice no longer quite so confrontational. “ I thought you had that... one girl, caught in the chess trap I inadvertently helped you build.”

“ She's... gone,” Sylvain said. “ Wasn't that great. So my schedule's clear!”

Felix pondered that a moment, gave it more weight than Sylvain would have, before finally saying, “ Good. I'll attend, then.”

“ Wait,” Sylvain said, knowing _exactly_ what Felix was planning. You weren't childhood friends with someone just for the hell of it. “ Not in those clothes.”

“ I don't have time to clean up,” Felix growled.

“ I'll train with you for a week~” Sylvain teased. He hated to sacrifice so much time, but... well, he _was_ out a girl, so was it really so bad? He could fight Felix a few times, get his ass beat.

( Of his group of friends, he was the worst fighter and he knew it.)

Felix sighed. “ Then... I will clean up. Quickly. But you must be ready once the meeting is over. You have been slacking.”

“ You've gopt my word,” Sylvain said. “ Now I'm going to pop out and watch the door, because if I stay here, you'll try to drag me into your sword stuff. Just get cleaned, hey?”

“ Fine,” Felix spat.

Sylvain turned and walked out the door.

( And thus did not see Felix's eyes, helpless to do anything but watch him, a warm and happy thing curling up in the swordsman's heart that he did not know what to do with, so different it was from the tense fury that had sheathed his heart like a shield since his brother's death.)

-

The sugar mixture was just starting to boil. As he watched it bubble, stirring gently, Claude ran his mind down the list of what else he'd need. Rosewater had been a hassle to get a hold of- the kitchen didn't carry it- but Anna, once again, had proven to be the woman who had what he needed. She'd agreed to be cheap on the other ingredients, in

He was cooking in one corner of what _had_ been the kitchens. The fire had taken them, of course, alongside the old cafeteria, but the Church had rapidly compensated with this big tent, which had a hole in the middle of its roof so that smoke could escape. Made of good, fire-proofed white cloth, supported on quickly-erected poles of sturdy wood, it was a big damn tent, and had lots of room for the stoves. Two other cooks were in here, making their own meals; Claude had, by force of habit, grabbed the stove placed farthest away from others, with easy access to the back flap of the tent if he needed to escape.

But no threats were present, so he focused on his cooking. Thank the sand that his father had loved this recipe so. Claude had learned to make it from the cooks, the young outcast always crawling around everywhere in the palace, getting his nose stuck in everywhere. Of all the places in the castle, it had been the cooks who had been kindest; the barracks had not been so bad, rough folk whose respect he had earned with his bow talents, but the cooks were the only ones who had adopted him wholesale.

He had never had time to truly learn their skills, but he'd learned to make this dish, simply because they'd made it so often and he'd been down there so much. He still remembered Leyla's hands, big and soft, stirring and stirring, the head chef doing what her family had done for generations, the oldest confectioners in Almyra, dating back centuries.

( She was sweeter than her creations, even to him, despite his heritage; she was the first person to teach him that not every Almyran would see Fodlan in his eyes, that some would simply see him, and she would inspire him to dream his great dream. It is a favor he would owe that kind woman all his life; the kitchen had been a refuge during hard times for many years.)

He moved his muscles by his memories, mimicking the confectioner in his mind. The sugar mixture, ready, now off the heat; then cream of Almyra and a few other things in a separate pan, add water, put it on the stove. Mix it until lumps were gone, heat and heat and _stir_ , stir like your life depended on it.

In the midst of his stirring, Mercedes walked in. She looked tired, as she had ever since Lysithea had revealed her brother to be the Death Knight before all Garreg Mach.

“ Hey,” he said, calling out gently to the Deer's little mother. “ I won't bother asking 'how are you' because I'm not a jerk. What's up?”

“ Hello, Claude,” Mercedes said, smirking at his words and heading over to him. “ Nothing is up; I'm... taking a break. Dorothea is watching my brother.”

...Claude doubted that she'd left willingly. “ Byleth order you to scram?”

She sighed as she reached him.

“ Claude, you are almost too perceptive,” she admitted to her House Leader. “ Yes... she wanted Dorothea to take over watching him for the next few days. Dorothea's in there with her girlfriend. Apparently Petra doesn't trust that my brother is in no condition to hurt anyone.”

“ What _is_ his condition?” Claude asked. “ Byleth told me about Rhea's terms-”

“ I agreed to them, of course,” Mercedes said. “ They're waiting to wound his hand until after he recovers. His condition... I'm not sure he'll wake again. Some combination of his own exhaustion from using so much power, trauma from losing his arm, and the massive head injury Lysithea gave him... it's a wonder he's still alive... he drifts in and out of consciousness.”

She shook her head. “ Though... he did say something interesting when he woke up... I haven't had a chance to tell anyone yet, but we need to meet soon.”

“ Oh? Something you can say here?” Claude asked quietly. Mercedes shook her head.

“ No,” she said. “ We'll talk about it as a group.”

Claude's eyes widened... but, reluctantly, he let the matter drop. He didn't feel like pressuring _Mercedes,_ that would've made him feel monstrous under normal circumstances; right now, it'd be like punting a puppy into a kitten and then setting both of them on fire.

“ So what'd you come in here for?” Claude asked. “ Come to see me screw up this recipe?”

“ No,” Mercedes said, managing a very small smile for Cluade as she headed over to one of the standing cabinet/ice boxes scattered abou the tent and withdrew a few things- onions, trout, a bit of cheese. “ Just making something for myself. What are you making?”

“ Lokum!” Claude said, before reminding himself that nobody here would know what the hell that was. “ Well, Almyran delights, I think is the name for it.”

“ Oh, I love those,” Mercedes said, getting interested despite herself as she set up on the stove next to Claude. “ Fhirdiad had a little shop that made them. They were very expensive, though... and no wonder, considering what goes in them. How'd you afford the sugar?”

“ Barely,” Claude admitted. “ Coinpurse is so empty that every time I open it now, I hear sad music.”

Mercedes gave him another small smile as she poked her head over and looked at his ingredients, even as her hands prepared onion gratin soup. “ What flavor are you using? While I was at Fhirdiad, we had Almyran delight as a year-end treat. mostly ate peach currant delights. Faerghus peach currants are really, _really_ cold hardy, so they were available almost year round.”

“ I'm going classical,” Claude said. “ Rose.”

“ Rose? Like the flower?” Mercedes said.

“ Yep!” Claude replied. “ Figured she'd appreciate something different.”

“ She... are you making this for Edelgard? Oh my!” Mercedes said, grin growing wider. “ Well, in that case, you better stir faster! You slow down when you talk.”

“ Ah, hell, you're right,” Claude said, quickly speeding up his stirring.

They worked in silence for a few moments, Mercedes preparing a stock from the trout to go with the onions she was caramelizing in a second dish. Claude's second mixture was starting to become a thick paste; perfect, just a little more stirring. Claude moved it to the cooler burner, lowering the heat. He took his first pan and began to pour the sugar syrup from it in, slowly, stirring and stirring and _gah_ , his arm was _killing_ him, how much fucking stirring did one dish take?

“ Oh my, you seem tired. Do you want me to stir for you?” Mercedes teased.

“ Nah, I'm just... you know, I don't need a right arm,” Claude said, putting on an air of manful struggle. “ Sometimes you gotta sacrifice, you know?”

“ A true labor of love,” Mercedes opined, a giggle escaping her as she stirred her onions, watching them slowly caramelize, the heavy scent thick in the air.

It made Claude feel kind of good about himself to hear her giggle. She was so sad these days- and who could blame her?- so it was nice to cheer her up.

“ Yeah,” Claude admitted. “ Figured it'd be nice to make her something before we leave.”

Mercedes made a non-committal humming sound, smile fading. Claude would have slapped his forehead if his hands weren't busy.

_Way to go, jackass_ , he thought. _The second she gets feeling better, you throw her back down again!_

He kept his mouth shut, and the two cooked in peace for a few moments. Claude brought the heat low, and let his mixture sit, stirring it only a little... and with his left arm, his right was protesting and going on strike. Mercedes kept caramelizing the onions.

“ So,” he said, as he let his candy mix bubble,” you've cooked the hell out of those onions.”

Mercedes snorted a quick laugh, and then looked surprised at her own reaction.

“ I... yes? You have to cook them for a long time to get better flavors out of them. It's what's wrong with half the students here; nobody cooks their onions long enough. I tried to teach Annette, but she's... well... excitable. And she forgets what she's doing. She ran off once, at Fhirdiad, completely forgot she was cooking. Started a fire... the teachers were so mad.”

Claude chuckled. “ Well, that's one way to warm up, I suppose. Honestly I have no idea how Faerghi survive up there... how did _you_ survive? Aren't you an Adrestian?”

“ Born and bred,” Mercedes said. “ And an Adrestian again, apparently- even a noble.”

Oh, yeah- the scheme they'd all come up with. Mercedes' face fell again.

_Okay,_ Claude told his own sinking feelings, _I can't be blamed for this one, I was talking about something else._

But Mercedes shook her head, and continued.

“ It was rough. I'd like to say 'at first', but honestly, I never got used to the cold... or the culture. There's a lot of... harshness in Faerghus, and I'm not just talking about the cold... But I'm sure you don't want to hear me bring up old complaints.”

“ Hey, I'm not doing anything,” Claude said. “ I got forty minutes to kill while this blobby mass here decides to turn delicious. It's either listen to you or take up juggling for the next half hour.”

“ _Juggling_?” Mercedes said, quirking an eyebrow at Claude.

He gave her a grin and picked up the bottles of rosewater, cream of Almyra and sugar on the counter.

“ Did you not know I was a talented juggler?” he said, chucking the glass bottles in the air. “ It's my real calling. Shame I have to be a noble, I'd make an _awesome_ entertainer.”

Because karma had a swift backhand, at the exact second he finished his sentence, he misjudged the throw on his rosewater. The Adrestian-made bottle slapped him in the face, almost getting him right in his left eye, and in his surprise he nearly dropped the other two, only swift reflexes saving all three bottles from disaster.

Mercedes laughed again.

“ You certainly would!” she said. “ My my. Perhaps, though, you should practice more?”

“ Before I lose an eye,” Claude agreed, flushing red and putting the bottles back down. “ I'd look stupid with an eyepatch, anyway. Couldn't pull it off.”

“ Everybody looks much more impressive with an eyepatch,” Mercedes argued. “ You don't see someone with an eyepatch and think to yourself, 'ah, here is a nobody.' Eyepatches impress!”

“ I wouldn't have figured you for one who'd like such a rough-looking accessory,” Claude said. “ You're Mercedes, sweet and innocent!”

“ Sweet, yes,” Mercedes said, with a smile. “ Innocent? Never. It's one of the things I got in trouble at Fhirdiad for.”

“ Okay, you _have_ to tell me this story,” Claude said, smirking as he gave the goop solidifying in the pan a quick stir. It didn't look like much now, but when it was done, it would be _delicious_.

“ Not much to tell,” Mercedes said with a shrug. “ In my senior year, I rather fancied a fellow student. She fancied me in turn, and so we started sleeping together. W were fairly discrete... but she had other admirers, and one of them found out. He went and told a teacher, and we were found out. Quite a scandal; she was a Fraldarius relative, while I, of course, was a nobody, just some merchant's adopted Crest-bearer. Orders were put out to keep it secret, and the teacher wanted me publicly flogged for, and I quote, 'luring an innocent girl into deviant sexual practices.' Like most Faerghi, he wasn't fond of women with other women.”

“ Wait,” Claude said, running over what he knew of the Church of Seiros in his mind. Cautiously, hoping his info hadn't been wrong, he said, “ Wasn't Seiros herself...?”

“ Yes,” Mercedes said. “ That was my adopted father's argument, which the Dean, reluctantly, agreed with. For all that I'm not fond of the merchant my mother married, I'll give him this much- he was furious when he heard what they were trying to pull. Mostly because it would hurt his own reputation, but also because he was genuinely offended that they wanted to whip me for _that_ reason. Everybody's got a line they won't cross, I suppose... as a merchant, I suppose he was a bit more cosmopolitan.”

“ Okay, but wait, that makes _no sense_ ,” Claude said. “ The Church is pretty explicit about allowing everybody with everybody. Faerghus is the _Holy_ Kingdom, they should be all over that sort of thing. It makes no sense!”

“ No, it doesn't,” Mercedes said. “ It's... well. I suppose I'm not too sad about going back to Adrestia. Though I am not looking forward to telling my adoptive father about my newfound status; he'll certainly look to make a fortune off of it.”

“ Why tell him?” Claude proposed. “ You're the one with the title, not him. You outrank him. Tell him off.”

“ I... no, it's... complicated,” Mercedes said.

“ How so?” Claude asked, and Mercedes stopped stirring for a second, with a strange look in her eyes.

( _He has a point_ , some little light inside her said, a thing she didn't listen to very often, that now saw a chance to break through the wall inside Mercedes, Claude inspiring her without meaning to. _How so? Why couldn't you just say... no?_ )

“ I... perhaps it's not,” she said quietly, then, more loudly, “ But... sorry, I have been whining for quite a while. Do forgive me, Claude.”

“ It's not whining,” he said with a shrug. “ You got problems, same as everyone else. And you're a Deer. You got an ear here, if you need it.”

She smiled at him. “ Thank you, Claude.”

They finished their cooking in relative silence, Claude pondering this new, contradictory information. Why would Faerghus care? He'd heard a few things about one of the Blue Lions that were now making more sense. He had no idea what the hell a “jennet” was, but he'd heard Faerghus students whispering it about Ingrid, and wondering if she was of- how'd that one put it- oh, yes, “an Adrestian persuasion.”

( That had been the same guy Leonie had punched out, early on. Prick.)

But... that didn't make any sense. Fodlan was all about religion; even in Adrestia, when they'd kicked the Church out, they'd just installed a new Ministry of Religion. Faerghus was supposed to be the _most_ religious; hell, the Western Church guys the Deer had fought had all been convinced _they_ were doing what the Goddess wanted, that it was the Central Church that had went astray.

Was there something else going on? Did it really matter, compared to the great war Byleth saw ahead of them? Maybe, maybe not...

...Man, religion was _weird_. He'd never been so grateful for Almyra's lazy semi-atheism.

Mercedes finished her soup- she'd made two bowls- and left before Claude was finished. Into his mix he poured his rosewater, and stirred, stirred, stirred until _both_ arms hurt.

But the mix was ready. He poured it into a wide, flat pan, covered it, and then set it safely into a cabinet for cooling and settling foods... with a note on it claiming it was a new poison he was making, one that produced projectile vomiting.

Heh heh- _that'd_ make sure nobody stole it while it settled. He took the bottle of sugar, mostly empty, with him; come tomorrow, he'd powder the whole thing, cut it into squares, and gift it to his Lady.

Claude walked out of the kitchens a'whistling, content with life.

-

Sylvain was only outside for a few minuets before Felix stalked out. Sylvain had grinned. He'd convinced him!

Well, he hadn't convinced him. He'd _bribed_ him. Still, that counted as persuasion, so Sylvain would take it as a win.

Sylvain sighed, pondering the ass-beating he'd signed up for. Task complete... but the week ahead... ugh. Felix was gonna beat him like a red-headed stepchild.

(As a ginger himself, Sylvain had always been vaguely offended by that phrase.)

Sylvain watched as Felix stalked off into the distance, body language so tight and obviously angry that Sylvain's mind flashed briefly back to Lysithea, and the way the tiny terror did not walk around Garreg Mach so much as _stomp_.

( Watching her fight with the Death Knight- which had been the most impressive thing Sylvain had ever seen- had also led him to think, _Thank the Goddess she's too young for me, I've never pissed her off flirting with her._ The things you think in the heat of the moment.)

“ Oh, hey, I guess you convinced him?” a voice said to his left.

Sylvain turned to see Caspar walking up to him.

“ Yeah,” he said. “ Dimitri send you?”

“ Dedue did,” Caspar said. “ Wanted to make sure Felix hadn't taken to just attacking you.”

_Dedue knows us well_ , Sylvain thought. “ He almost did, but I dodged with great alacrity.”

Caspar snorted. “ Sure ya did,” he said... then gave Sylvain an oddly appraising look. “ Though on second thought, you might have. You're a smart one.”

“ Never been accused of that before,” Sylvain said. Caspar laughed.

“ I'm dating Linhardt. I've got an eye for intelligence,” Caspar said. “ Come on, let's get back to the classroom.”

“ After you, Adrestian,” Sylvain said, posing dramatically. “ I don't know if I am worthy to walk beside such an Imperial personage!”

“ Look, Faerghi,” Caspar said, as he looked up at Sylvain, “ Don't you start that shit. You're closer to the Adrestian stereotype than I am.”

“ How so?” Sylvain said, grinning.

“ You care about getting laid more than fighting, you're way better than me with magic-”

“ I'm shit with magic,” Sylvain said.

“ Linhardt thinks you'd be great at it, if you'd just practice,” Caspar said. “ And you're fancy- hell, I smell perfume on you right now.”

“ It's called cologne when men wear it,” Sylvain said. Caspar laughed.

“ See, that's what I'm saying! I'm more of a Faerghi than you are. I like fighting, I couldn't cast a spell to save my life, I'm into dudes-”

“ Wait, is that a stereotype of Faerghi down your way?” Sylvain interrupted.

“ Oh yeah,” Caspar said. “ Your whole system of knightly vows can't fool us! You guys are so passionate about each other; it's just a big frat party of lovebirds, we're onto you!”

Sylvain laughed... but a moment later, his brain- always too smart- thought about it.

_Everyone knows knights sometimes, err, relieve each other's worries- no wait, what did that one book Ashe was reading call it? Ah, yes, “reassure” each other. Then there's Loog and Kyphon who were_ _**absolutely** _ _bonking, and there were all those rumors about Rodrigue and Lambert..._

“...Oh hell,” he said. “ I think you're right.”

“ See?!?” Caspar said. “ It's like we're displaced. Each other's national twins.”

“ But I'm the pretty one,” Sylvain said.

“ I'll let you believe that,” Caspar said, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “ Now come on, let's go get bored by this healer woman.”

“ Eh, it can't be that bad,” Sylvain said. “ How big of a deal can one meeting be?”

They walked off together, chatting amicably, participating in that slow process called 'becoming friends.'

( On such small things do the fortunes of nations turn.)

-

Outside Garreg Mach, a group of Knights finally came into view of the great fortress-monastery. The man at their lead took his helmet off, taking in the view.

“ Goddess be damned,” Jeralt said. “ I'm finally back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note on Honeywater, Dates and Stocks:
> 
> Anna in my fic is literally the most well-traveled person in the world; her boyfriend, Jake, is the second most well-traveled, because he's her boyfriend, to give you an idea of how extensive Anna's trade network is. Anna mostly views Fodlan as a backwater with a huge population that she can dump goods from other lands into for a ton of gold; it helps that Fodlan has unique goods to offer, despite being relatively primitive, and Anna is delighted to take advantage of it. 
> 
> No one knows where she's from; in at least one country she regularly visits, she is rumored to be a spirit of capitalism and trade, who simply manifested out of the sea one day. This is not quite as inaccurate as one might hope.
> 
> At any rate, one of the elements of her travels is that she's been to Morfis, which has the most advanced centers of learning on the planet. When she mentions honeywater, she's actually talking about diabetes, which Morfis has begun to record and describe. She recognizes it as caused by too much sugar, and when she heard the amount Claude was asking for, temporarily forgot she was in Fodlan and called it by the Morfis name (in flawless Church Standard, because being multilingual can be weird like that.)
> 
> This is quite ahistorical, but not in the direction you're probably thinking; descriptions of diabetes might date all the way back to Anicent Egypt in 1550 B.C.E. That one's kind of vague, though; but we DEFINITELY have records from China dating back to a manual called The Yellow Emperor's Classic of Internal Medicine, which dates from somewhere around 475 B.C.E. by earliest estimates, and from 8 A.D. by the absolute latest.
> 
> Also a note on the actual calendar dates, since I'm going to start writing those down at chapter beginnings. The events of the Midnight Duel happened on the last day of the Verdant Rain Moon, the 31st; well, given how late it happened, technically it was on the 1st day of the Horsebow Moon.   
>  (Stupid midnight; great for drama but it makes recording dates a right pain in the ass.)
> 
> Ferdinand recovered two days later, due to Flayn injecting him with her blood and that working out super good due to Byleth rather than, you know, killing him like it should have. Lysithea took the rest of the week, and her legs are still a bit wobbly, though she'd punch you in the nose for saying it.
> 
> Cornelia arrived on the 9th, and settled in surprisingly quickly. 
> 
> For additional facts that will become relevant soon, Petra's 16th birthday was on the 7th, while Alliance Day was the 8th.
> 
> Now, for those who are like “why is Claude investing in stocks”, fun fact time! Stocks are a lot older than most people think. Italian companies- specifically Venetian ones- were trading in government securities in the 13th century; in the 14th century, so did Pisa, Verona, Genoa, and Florence; shortly thereafter, what we'd think of as “company shares” were being traded in Italy, mostly on commenda contracts... though these are far from the first shareholder companies, since we've solid evidence that shareholder companies date back to ancient Rome.
> 
> Yes, this means that at the same time that Genghis Khan was creating the Great Mongolian State (as his own people referred to it), the largest contiguous land empire in history, a bunch of Venetians were yelling at each other over government bonds. And when Pisa and friends got involved in that yelling, the Black Death was happening. And some of the people who stabbed Caesar were shareholders in merchant venture companies.
> 
> Good rule of thumb with real history versus Hollywood history: everything is a lot older than you think, except for the stuff that's way, way newer, and it's absolutely more complicated. 
> 
> Sounds absurd, but you'd be startled how true it is.
> 
> Given that the Alliance has a lot of Italian influences- particularly in its fragmented, startlingly mobile society- and that it's the Fodlan country with by far the most outside influence, I decided that Derdriu likely has a stock exchange.   
>  ( Admittedly, the Dutch were the first people with a “real” stock market, but we don't have a Netherlands equivalent in Fodlan.)
> 
> What we do have is a continent forcibly locked into the middle ages for a thousand years. The Alliance is the nation that Rhea pays less attention to, focusing most of her time on either the Holy Kingdom or Adrestia. Leceister is mostly left to its own devices as a sideshow... and more slips through than she thinks.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comment and like if you liked this, comment about my writing's flaws if you didn't!


	21. II.II: Lions Walking into the Shrike's Den, Pawn Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot BEGIN to describe to you how happy I am to write more about both the Blue Lions- this is their Act, in many ways- and also about the awful, awful, AWFUL Agarthans.
> 
> So read about a meeting that assuredly means nothing and will have no consequences for anyone!

**ACT II**

**SABLE STORM**

**Chapter II**

**Lions Walking into the Shrike's Den, Pawn Storm**

Dimitri considered Cornelia an impressive woman, going by her past achievements and present work. Curing the great plague of Faerghus was her greatest achievement, of course, saving lives beyond count, but she had not rested on her laurels afterwards, had not relied on past glories.

No, Cornelia was very active. She ran several hospitals for the poor, along with orphanages and schools; Dimitri vaguely recalled one noble complaining about how any money in Cornelia's hand ended up wasted on the commonfolk. A doer of great deeds, was Cornelia, a woman that Dimitri, speaking honestly, admired. There weren't many nobles with a kind heart... but then, she wasn't a noble, was she? Just a mage, who by dint of great wisdom was granted a high position.

Of course, this was Faerghus, so rumors swirled around the unmarried woman. The most common ones- well, the most common ones  _ Dimitri  _ had heard- said  she was one of Rufus' favored women... albeit that rumor floated around every single unmarried woman who was within ten feet of Rufus at any given time. Other rumors, most of a sexual nature, particularly complaining about the relative skimpiness of her preferred clothing.

Now that he was before her, Dimitri found it hard to concentrate on the great things she'd done, and  _ very  _ easy to concentrate on her...  _ revealing  _ dress. It was a very...  _ emphatic  _ outfit. 

_ Look at her face _ , he reminded himself, and tried not to blush like a fool. He wished he had Sylvain's experience... 

_ No, I don't, _ he thought in the next moment. He wouldn't want to hurt anyone, the way Sylvain hurt so many people.

Still, he wished he had  _ something _ . He felt thirteen again, and stupid.

_ Focus _ , he told himself.  _ What's around you? _

That last he heard in Gustave's voice, the man who'd trained him to pay attention to his surroundings. Following that old advice, Dimitri refocused himself on the world around him.

The Blue Lions' classroom was, like the other two classrooms, reflective of the class. Annette's brilliant spellwork dominated the chalkboard at the room's front right corner, Mercedes writing cheerful addendums near her theorums, the big looping letters easy to distinguish from Annette's jagged, excitable lines; less common these days, with Mercedes a Deer, but she still stopped by from time to time to see her best friend.

Annette herself usually sat opposite her chalkboard in the front left, seat distinguishable by the gigantic pile of spellbooks next to it, one open to a page on magic theory bordering on urban legends... something about a spell that delivered crushing force, though Dimitri caught no more with his glance. Ashe sat behind her, his seat a bit messy- most prominent were a few complicated mechanical things, advanced locks that Ashe was picking apart. Ashe was determined to move on from his days as a thief, but he'd kept up his lockpicking skills, believing them too useful to give up... at least, that's what he'd told Dedue, who was surprisingly close with the commoner. 

It was probably why Dedue usually sat next to him, the big man's seat clean and tidy, the only indication of personality a small book on gardening he was reading, one decorated with a unicorn on the front.

Sylvain's seat in the front right was the least obvious; he didn't live much of his life in the classroom. The only sign was his chair, which he kept leaning back in, leaning back like a king; the chair's back legs clearly displayed signs of tension and strain. Dimitri sat next to him, since as House Leader, he felt he should; his own seat was clean, he was relieved to see, though he couldn't remember if he'd kept it clean or if Dedue had cleaned it.

Behind him and Sylvain sat Ingrid, and while her table was neat and proper, the corner of a chivalric book peeked out from the compartment under the table;  _ Knight of Fire _ , the spine declared. Oils and a whetstone in the seat behind her, in the right corner, where Felix sat, working on his blade if he wasn't doing anything else. 

The opposite corner belonged to Linhardt and Caspar, but curiously they'd added nothing of their own to it; tightly self-contained, both the new additions were. They spent a lot of time whispering to each other; sweet nothings, Dimitri assumed, wasn't that what lovers did?

Not that he had any idea about that.

( _ but you know about whispers, don't you, prince? _ )

Breathe in.

Nobody was sitting today, of course. They were all gathered at the class' front, with Cornelia and her attendants. The two Adrestians anchored the left end from Dimitri's perspective; Caspar stood next to Linhardt, who seemed half-asleep (as usual); Caspar was looking at Sylvain with amusement, and while his own eyes had run over Cornelia's beauty with some interest when he'd first entered, he'd afterwards focused on her face.

The benefits of a steady relationship, Dimitri supposed. Next to them were Annette and Ashe, dual eager faces, happy to meet new people. Dedue next to them and beside him, always present.

To his right Sylvain looked like he'd found religion, openly ogling Cornelia; Felix next to him had murder in his eyes, mostly directed at Sylvain. Ingrid was farthest on Dimitri's right, face carefully neutral; she seemed uncomfortable for some reason.

Standing before them were Cornelia and her two attendants. One was a blonde-haired, rather short and small woman, who wore a veil over her face for some reason. Her hair was done up in a big ponytail behind her, and she wore rough, practical clothing, with big gloves and a heavy belt stuffed full of tools. Not something a noble would wear; she looked like a carpenter in miniature. She was bouncing on the heels of her feet,

The man next to her was...  _ really  _ handsome. He was built like a wet dream; a big man, muscled, he had a fine stout chin and his clothes were so tight that every movement reflected the heroic build underneath. Dimitri caught a glimpse of his abs, rippling things under his clothes as the man stretched.

_ Goddess, preserve me, _ he thought, and then, after,  _ He's so big... I wouldn't hurt him, even with my strength... _

_ You don't even know the man's name, _ Dimitri cursed at himself, trying to refocus, tearing his eyes away from the man... and immediately settling them on Cornelia, taking all of the full-figured woman in, his brain finally understanding what was meant when a woman was described as  _ voluptuous. _

_ Goddess why are you doing this to me, _ Dimitri thought in despair as he looked away again, this time upwards, where no one good looking awaited him.

But while his eyes were finally chaste, his ears were not.

( _ of course your eyes wander animal beast we are dead unavenged you lust disgusting grotesque animal boar debts go unpaid but what does that matter to you if you can lust if your eyes can sin in your heart rutting animal boar beast monster _ )

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Lean against Dedue, just the littlest bit, drawing strength from his presence.

( He missed Cornelia and Myson's eyes, flickering to him, to the way he swayed on his feet.)

The voices, at least, killed anything going on inside him, and Dimitri had mostly recovered by the time Cornelia spoke up.

“ Oh, it is good to see you!” she said, voice all warm, husky woman. “ Such a proud future for Faerghus I see before me.”

Dimitri couldn't explain the weird chill down his spine, but dismissed it as his own problems, and not prophecy.

“ Proud to be here,” Dimitri said. That  _ sounded  _ like what a Prince should say... perhaps he should have practiced beforehand. He'd talk to Dedue after this, they'd figure something out. “ And honored to be in your presence.”

“ Oh, the honor is all mine,” the great healer said, bowing lightly to Dimitri, which made certain parts of her anatomy do wonderful things that threatened to restart the embers in him. “ To be received so graciously by a Prince! You spoil an old woman.”

“ You don't look old at all,” Sylvain said with a grin. Cornelia chuckled.

“ My, is that young Lord Gautier? I had heard you were a charmer.”

“ Something like that,” Sylvain said, before grunting as Felix elbowed him, Ingrid nodding her approval.

“ Stop staring, idiot,” Felix growled. Sylvain shrugged, but his eyes wandered away from Cornelia... for about three seconds.

“ Lord Fraldarius,” Cornelia said, smoothly skipping over Felix's words and actions. “ I have worked with your father before.”

“ Then you have my pity,” he snarled.

“ Felix!” Ingrid said, before bowing. “ Lady Cornelia, I am  _ so  _ sorry- I apologize for the both of them-”

“ That is not necessary, Lady Galatea,” Cornelia said, returning the bow, to Sylvain's delight. “ I know you are a woman of impeccable honor and gallantry. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Ingrid nodded, and there was the faintest hint of a... blush?... on her face, before it went back to being very neutral, and she was looking not at Cornelia but at the man beside her.

( No one noticed... save the Agarthans.)

Cornelia then turned to Dedue.

“ Mr. Molinaro,” she said... and bowed to him, to Dimitri's stunned disbelief. “ It is good to see you here. Is all well?”

Dedue, as surprised as Dimitri, managed a bow after a moment. “ It is acceptable, Lady Cornelia. I thank you for your concern.”

“ If you have need, come to me,” she said. Dimitri reeled where he stood. He'd _never_ seen a Faerghi noble treat Dedue so respectfully... maybe a trick, but... he couldn't lie, it made him look at her with new eyes, it rose her high in his esteem. If it was genuine... if she wasn't just treating him well for Dimitri's sake...

Well, he'd heard she was a good woman. Apparently, it was true.

( Myson's eyes, seeing everything, fighting on the inside not to smirk. This was almost too easy.)

“ Lord Bergliez and Lord Hevring,” she said to the duo, acknowledging them with a nod and not a bow. Appropriate, Dimitri supposed; they were foreign nobility, not Faerghi. Maybe she thought a bow would send the wrong message. “ I must admit to being surprised to see two Adrestians among the Lions! What prompted you two to flee the Eagles' nest?”

“ Wanted to see the world before I had to go home,” Caspar said, giving her a nod of his own. Linhardt made a motion _like_ a nod, but he might have just passed out for a second. “ And you guys struck me as more my kind of people- all rough and tumble!”

“ We Faerghi are a brave people,” Cornelia said, voice tinged with national pride. “ And Lord Hevring?”

“ I accompanied him,” the healer said, nodding to Caspar, apparently not as asleep as he looked.

“ I understand well,” Cornelia said. “ I hear you are a healer? And very skilled for your age! I would love to trade notes with you.”

“ That might be acceptable,” Linhardt said.

Cornelia turned to Annette. “ Lady Dominic! My, so many esteemed families, all gathered here, both foreign and domestic! Quite a prominent class will the 1180 Blue Lions be. I know your uncle; his donations keep many of my orphanages and hospitals running. Your family has my deepest gratitude.”

“ No problem!” Annette squeaked cheerfully, grinning hugely. “ Glad to help! I'd love to learn healing from you too, you're the greatest healer in Faerghus!”

Cornelia chuckled. “ I hardly deserve the praise! I simply did what anyone would do. _Somebody_ had to stop the plague.”

Then she turned to Ashe, and her face fell, as she gave the commoner the deepest bow of all.

“ Mr. Ubert,” she said, “ I am so sorry for your loss. I know nothing I say can truly help, but know that you have my sincerest condolences.”

The deep bow and her words produced many reactions. Dimitri, seeing her grant such respect to a commoner, was convinced his initial impression was right, and that Cornelia was a good person. Dedue was pleased by it as well, Ashe being one of the few people he thought of as a friend; he put one big hand on Ashe's shoulder. Annette put her own small hand on Ashe's other shoulder, her face, like Caspar's giving him a sympathetic glance.

To Dimitri's right, Felix frowned, but did not look at Ashe, memories of his own loss playing in his head. Sylvain, meanwhile, was more interested in certain... _physical_ aspects of her bow... and the trail of his eyes was followed unconsciously by Ingrid, who watched for a second longer than, perhaps, she should have, and turned her head away with a jerk.

( Linhardt, meanwhile, was distracted by wondering how the _hell_ her clothes had stayed on. There were no straps on that dress!)

“ I... it is alright,” Ashe said, face solemn. “ Lady Cornelia, I thank you for your kindness, but Lord Lonato would- he would not have wanted me to dwell on it. He chose his death.”

“ But you are left alive to grieve over it,” Cornelia said, straightening up. “ Come to my room if you need to talk; my door will always be open to you.”

She turned to the group as a whole.

“ That goes for all of you,” she said. “ Treat me as what I am- a friend, and a resource to draw upon. With all that is going on, I believe it behooves Faerghus to keep a closer watch on Garreg Mach. That is why I came, to assist you in these troubled times. Come to me with anything you need; I am here to help.”

She smiled at them.

“ Trust me.”

-

The meeting lasted about an hour longer. The Lions had many questions, and Cornelia fielded all of them; Myson and Bias only spoke once or twice, mostly to confirm they were her attendants. She hadn't wanted them to be too involved with the Lions; they had other tasks to perform.

When it was done, the Lions filed out of the classroom, and the trio of disguised Agarthans walked back to Cornelia's private room. They passed a few of the students, watching, but seeing nothing of real relevance; though they did catch a glimpse of Dimitri, practicing swordplay with a group of children, his companion teaching a dark-skinned child how to wield an axe.

When they were back in Cornelia's room- which her mind kept calling an office- her and Myson cast a few quick spells to guarantee privacy.

With that done, Cornelia turned to her two companions... and burst out laughing.

“ Well!” she exclaimed between laughs. “ I knew they'd be dysfunctional, but I had no  _ idea! _ ” 

Myson laughed with her, laughed so hard he almost cried. 

“ You saw it too?!?”

“ Oh, it was... everywhere! So many issues, so many buttons to press, so many strings to haul these puppets around! The dossiers indicated they'd be a mess... but, oh, nothing like  _ seeing  _ it!”

The two of them kept laughing as Bias, looking back and forth between the two, frowned and sighed. 

“ Oh, is this one of those social things? You know I miss those. And you know I hate being left behind; clue a helpless engineer in?”

“ Of course, dearest,” Cornelia said, raising a hand and running a fond finger down Bias' cheek. Poor socially ignorant dear. “ Don't worry; we won't leave you topside. Suffice to say... much of the group has rather strong issues we can use to our advantage. Especially the little princeling... oh  _ my _ . What a  _ delight  _ he's going to be.”

Myson kept laughing. “ He had  _ no idea  _ what to do with you. His eyes kept wandering and then he'd snap them back to your face. Or he'd look  _ me  _ over. What a confused, distracted little beastie... and that girl! Did you see her blush?”

“ I did,” Cornelia said, still petting Bias. “ And even beyond their reactions to me... did you see the way our little royal kept looking at the one to his left, the one named Dedue? He is dependent on that one... overly so.”

“ Yes indeed,” Myson agreed. 

“ So how do we use it?” Bias asked, leaning into the touch for a second before cocking her head to the side. 

“ Well, my dear,” Cornelia said, lowering a hand and pulling up a file from her desk, “ this beastie is wounded. Not physically; on the inside. He is uncertain. He is unsure. He is  _ unstable. _ ”

“ Yes,” Myson said, grin wide as Cornelia's as he spoke to Bias. “ And like many crippled things, he has a crutch. That retainer of his, Dedue... he is reliant on him. I believe the lady is thinking what I'm thinking...”

Cornelia giggled.

“ I am, indeed. And I even know how to kick  _ this  _ particular crutch out of his hands, so that he falls right into our laps.”

“ That sounds fun!” Bias said cheerfully. “ Do we kill his retainer, then? Thales told us we could use that Kronya he's got hanging around here... well, at least for a couple of weeks, until they slap that skin on her. Solon's got some idea needs an assassin, wants to go after that weird professor Rhea's obsessed with.”

“ No, we'll be better than that,” Cornelia said. “ Remember- small steps. We're  _ not  _ Solon; we move slowly and cautiously. Killing someone produces all kinds of aftereffects... why kill, when simpler methods suffice? We'll simply have him transfer to another class. Obviously, it won't  _ totally  _ remove him from our crownling's life... but even that serves us. A sudden loss could have all kinds of effects, but a slow loss, beginning with limited contact, getting worse as schedules get more busy... why, we can observe him as he falls apart, see which way he collapses. Most likely, he'll either find someone new to cling to, or he'll collapse.”

“ Which do we prefer?” Myson asked. “ We can push one way or another...”

“ I would prefer if he clings to me,” Cornelia said. “ Given his clear issues with sexuality and attachment, I can't help but think I might be able to seize all Faerghus through him.”

“ I thought we were going to kill him?” Bias said. “ Wasn't that the plan? Knife in Rufus, blame on Dimitri, chop his head off, you own the Faerghus dukedom, hand it to Adrestia, all hail Agartha?”

Myson snorted. “  _ Magnificently  _ summarized, good Bias.”

Cornelia quirked an eyebrow, chuckling at the silly, but accurate, description of the old plan.

“ It was,” she said. “ But... now that I'm here, new ideas occur. Well, more accurately, ideas I had from reviewing the student files begin to solidify into real plans. Dimitri is so wounded... he'll look for someone else to cling onto. I can be his dear, sweet friend, his confidant; he hasn't had a mother figure since dear Patricia... or I might be more. He's young, I'm good looking, and he's clearly a virginal mess. I might make a useful lover out of him. Better than Rufus, at least.”

“ Cornelia Blaiddyd, Queen of Faerghus!” Myson said with mock dignity, before switching to a more serious, musing tone. “ Actually, that'd be even better than the Faerghus Dukedom plan... it wouldn't divide the Kingdom nearly as much.”

( He experienced no jealousy at the idea of Cornelia taking Dimitri as a lover; the Faerghi wasn't a  _ real  _ person, after all.)

“ Don't we want the Kingdom divided? I mean, we've got to kill all of them eventually,” Bias said. “ A united Kingdom is harder to kill.”

“ All in good time,” Cornelia said. “ Even with the Javelins, we don't have a good way to wipe out the mutants yet. No reason to rush the race and trip before the finish line. At the moment, a united Kingdom gives us a counterweight to Thales' weapon, who I  _ still  _ do not trust. He's given her enough rope to hang all Agartha with; we need insurance. Maybe she works out, maybe Thales is right... but you should  _ always  _ have a back-up plan.”

“ Won't hear me arguing the point,” Myson said.

“ It's just good engineering,” Bias agreed. “ Always have a fail-safe! Or two or three!”

“ Yes,” Cornelia said. “ Speaking of which... even this plan needs a back-up. The little princeling might do one of several things. He  _ might _ cling to me... or he might find someone else to cling to. He might collapse entirely, in which case we'll need a replacement. He might even surprise us all and recover... it happens, with enough support, with enough willpower. It behooves us to plan ahead. We're standing in the midst of the Kingdom's most prominent nobles; no reason we can't find  _ two  _ puppets for our strings. Three, four, more- as many as we think we can control.”

“ Well, I know who we  _ can't  _ use; the guy who thought secrets were hidden in your breasts,” Bias snarked. “ Even  _ I  _ noticed him staring!”

Myson burst out laughing as Cornelia smirked.

“ Quite a way to put it,” Cornelia said as Myson laughed helplessly. “ Yes, he's probably useless. Hmm. The swordsman, though... I've met his father. The son's not much like him, save they're both stubbornly set in their ways. Might be useful. The blonde girl is useless, family's too poor and too far east... but the little perky girl... a Crest, and an inheritor... worth investigating.”

Cornelia sighed.

“ Still, it's too early to tell,” she said, “ We're getting ahead of ourselves. So... let's wait a little while, wait and see. Keep the goals in mind, but no firm plan, not yet; observe them, see who might be useful. Stay flexible, not devoted to a single way forward- see what opportunities hit us.”

“ Good idea,” Myson said, before pausing. “ Do you think the two Adrestians might be spies for the weapon?”

Cornelia's eyes widened before they narrowed as she pondered this angle. 

“ I hadn't thought of that,” she hissed. “ But then again, that's why we talk and have meetings like this. As for them being spies... perhaps. The blue-haired one is from a family loyal to the Imperial family, if I recall my history correctly, and while the green-haired healer's family were traitors, he's the first one's lover. Let's keep watch on them. The weapon has her flaws, but she's not  _ stupid _ . If she's got a spy... well. That might be what we need to convince Thales to kill her and try something else.”

“ You really don't trust her, do you?” Bias said. Cornelia shook her head.

“ I'll be blunt, because you are now on the frontlines with me here at Garreg Mach,” Cornelia said. “ Keep this in your mind, always: when I reviewed her papers, looked at all her works, and came to understand what she's capable of... it  _ scared  _ me.”

She was silent a moment, and her friends absorbed that thought, terrifying in its implications. Cornelia,  _ scared. _

“ I... I am now scared, myself,” Bias said, very quietly.

“ Okay,” Myson said, voice a low rumble. “ That throws this into a whole new light.”

“ Indeed,” Cornelia said, glad the two had taken this as seriously as she'd intended them to. “ Our work is cut out for us; I know what Thales ordered... but I can't shake the feeling he just doesn't see how dangerous his pet eagle is. He's too used to thinking he's cowed her. But when he takes her hood off, when he orders  _ this  _ hunting bird to fly and kill, I don't think it's  _ just _ her fellow mutants she'll strike down. I think the weapon is going to betray us, and I am on the lookout for  _ any  _ opportunity to take her out of play.”

“ The assassin,” Bias murmured. Cornelia shook her head.

“ I've read her file; she's not good enough. She barely emerged from the vats a person, and has hovered at the edge of being recycled for years. She's dangerous to the mutants, but the weapon would wreck her.”

“ Shame,” Bias said. “ I figured that solution was too easy, but also that I oughta suggest it.”

“ You were right,” Cornelia said. “ We do need to explore all angles.”

“ Most of what's dangerous about her is her weapon,” Myson said. “ I might nick it for myself. Good blade. Why's she here anyway? She should either be on jobs of much less importance, or be tossed into the acid tanks for melting down and repurposing. Might get a better assassin out of it if we got that route, or at least a few more soldiers.”

“ The only reason she's here is because Solon needed an Agarthan to sacrifice for the Zahras spell,” Cornelia said. “ Not that anyone actually said that, but Solon specifically requested permission from Thales to use Zahras, and the only other actual Agarthan near him is Kronya, so the math is easy to compute.”

“ Wait, what?” Myson said. “ He's pulling that old thing out?”

Cornelia nodded. “ He's got some theory about the Deer's professor having the Fell Star's powers, and that Zahras might have the strength to kill her. I think it's just a sign he's finally lost it; how hard can it be to kill one mutant? She has no Agarthan investment, and while the Sword of the Creator is formidable, she's only had it a short while. She doesn't know all of its abilities.”

“ Rhea  _ is  _ unusually invested in her, though,” Myson pointed out. “ And the Sword of the Creator works for her, which by itself is interesting. How can she do that?”

“ She can't be Nemesis' descendant!” Bias said excitedly. “ He had no kids, that's why he could kill the Fell Star at all! Telos wouldn't have worked for anyone who'd ever had kids, or even adopted any to raise-”

“ We're getting off the path here,” Cornelia said, forestalling Bias' building rant about Telos. She  _ still  _ remembered the brawl the eager engineer had gotten her and Myson into during their younger years, all over the blade; she'd disagreed with an older engineer's interpretation, and Agarthans did not allow others to balk them lightly.

( It hadn't mattered much after Myson took the man's head off.)

“ I'm just saying,” Bias said, pouting. “ How can she wield it? Solon reports the Crest Stone's not in it! And she'd have to have the Crest of Flames anyway and I'm pretty sure we only stuck that in Edelgard, unless somebody did something they're not supposed to!”

“ The dragonspawn's church has had the sword since Seiros stole it from us,” Rhea said. “ Including its Crest Stone; and we know that they have always been interested in stealing our technology, though  _ why  _ is not known to us. Perhaps one of the Archbishops or the dragonspawn stumbled on a way to grant the Crest of Flames to a mutant.”

Cornelia sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. “ The thing is, I agree with Solon. There absolutely  _ is  _ something going on with the professor, and it's important. But that's the thing; so  _ much  _ is going on here, so much that matters. I think focusing on the professor is tunnel vision at its worst.”

“ But if he's right,” Myson offered, “ then it's a mistake  _ not  _ to focus on her.”

“ True,” Cornelia agreed, reluctantly. “ Well, it doesn't change what we're doing for now- observation. Let's keep watching. Also, side note, let's see if we can find a way to either kill this Kronya or get her away from Solon; I don't want him to have access to Zahras. That spell's so big and flashy there's no way to hide it. Solon's running the risk of blowing the lid off of our operations here, which would swiftly be very fatal. But otherwise... well, just keep your ears to the ground, we'll see what's going on up here over the next few days.”

“ Yeah,” Myson said, getting up and stretching. “ Anything in particular need doing in the next few hours?”

“ Not for you two,” Cornelia said. “ I'll be busy planning what I'll say to our broken toy, the words to convince him that he must send Dedue away. Some combination of focusing on possible harm to the Duscur if he stays and claiming the nobility are growing angry about it... I'll play the sympathy card. Come off as a friend... I'll get that ready in the next few moments, then call him in to my office in a few hours.”

“ What House will take him, though?” Bias said. “ The other bestials hate his kind. Which is weird; aren't they all just mutants?”

“ The mutants are very big on tribalism,” Cornelia said idly, flipping open a paper folder; they couldn't risk using Agarthan technology so openly here, in Garreg Mach, but paper sufficed. She flipped to Dedue's info.

“ He's friends with the Deer's professor, the strange mercenary Solon's after,” Cornelia said. “ They garden together, apparently. The Deer... yes, we'll send him there.”

“ Deer... hmm. Thinking about deer is making me hungry,” Myson admitted. “ Wonder if the cooks here are any good.”

“ Ooh!” Bias squealed, jumping out of her seat. “ I just realized that I'm hungry too! If we're dismissed, I'll go eat! We still have that bandit we caught on the way, right? Stuffed him in our little hideaway next to that big experiment of yours-”

“ Bias, don't make me think about your... gustatory habits,” Myson said, looking a bit queasy. “ Not before I eat. Also, preferably, not  _ after,  _ either. Never, in fact, if you can manage it.”

Bias rolled her eyes. “ You have the  _ weirdest  _ hangups. You can do your experiments and laugh, but I take one little bite in front of you-”

“ Bias, dear,” Cornelia said, “ you know we love you, but relent for sweet Myson's sake. I admit, I find your hunger funny, but Myson doesn't, so please- spare him, love.”

“ It's just so  _ weird _ ,” Myson muttered, almost to himself.

Bias shrugged. “ You fuck'em. That's a lot weirder to me.”

“ Hold on, you are  _ not  _ having this argument again, I've been forced to sit through it far too often,” Cornelia said, cutting them off with a wave of her hand. “ Drop it.”

“ I suppose,” Bias said.

“ Sweet beneath, thank you,” Myson said to Cornelia.

“ At any rate,” Cornelia said, “ you are dismissed.”

The duo headed out, to very different lunches, and Cornelia sketched an outline of a speech, as well as how she'd act during it. She'd put on better clothes before they met; she wore such skimpy material in Faerghus so she'd be dismissed by the noble men around her as merely yet another sidesaddle looking to ride Rufus, but here, a more... subtle... approach was called for. The low-cut dress had done its job; they'd learned how the bestials reacted to shock.

Now to dial it back a bit, and reel them in. Her pen scratched as she pondered her speech, writing it down so she could practice it.

_ The nobles of Faerghus, they look askance at your relationship with Dedue... we can trick them, send him away for just a little while, and when they think he's gone you can bring him back... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Edelgard and Claude star in cute fun times involving dessert sweets from Almyra and a potato!
> 
> Also Lysithea gets a cold gift from a character I realize I have mentioned but never actually written in this story before. All kinds of new POVs in this Act!


	22. II.III: A Time for Gifts, Side Pot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of gifts and sweetness and a potato; calms before storms. The Deer, growing golden.

**Act II**

**Sable Storm**

**Chapter III**

**A Time for Gifts, Side Pot**

“ So why are you still here?” Lysithea asked Ferdinand as she made a careful move on the chessboard. Her words were sharp, but her tone casual, the way Lysithea treated those she was friends with. “ You recovered the day after it happened, you've got no need to be here.”

“ It would be rude to abandon the great heroine of the night!” Ferdinand said cheerfully, before considering her position and making a move elsewhere. The witch scowled at the board, but with no real heat behind it; she was Lysithea, she scowled at everything. “ I'd hate to leave you all alone here.”

“ I mean, technically I'd have the Death Knight for company, he's down the hall,” the darkling snarked; but she couldn't fight the little smile on her face. She was glad for the company. Without anyone else here, it was too much like the way the days of the experiments had been, towards the end, when she was the only one left. “ Though I don't know why you insisted I take a break from studying to play chess with you. Goddess' teeth, I hope you're not trying to seduce me like Claude did Edelgard.”

“ Heavens forbid!” Ferdinand exclaimed, and Lysithea laughed at his shocked expression. “ Absolutely not! Though you are a lovely girl and will no doubt grow into a fine woman, I have no carnal interest in you at all. To be honest, I only thought of it because you needed a break. Please, don't think so poorly of my intentions, I beg you.”

“ It's fine, Ferdinand,” Lysithea said, chuckling still. Ferdinand made it too easy, sometimes. “ I know you wouldn't be trying anything. I'd kill you anyway if you did.”

“ Given that you are the mighty witch who defeated the Death Knight, I imagine you would!” he said, all pure, earnest honesty, the way he always was. Lysithea beamed, drinking in his praise, melodramatic as it was; from others it would have sounded like mockery, but Ferdinand had meant it, the way he always meant everything he did.

(It was, weirdly, what united him with Hubert; they were more true to their own natures than almost anyone else at Garreg Mach, despite the incredible disparity between those two natures.)

They played in silence for the next few rounds, focused on the game. Eventually, Lysithea, who wasn't very experienced as a chess player, made a move Ferdinand capitalized on, his black rook smashing aside her alabaster defenses even as she tried to kill his king. His obsidian forces were centered on his king like planets around the sun, unfortunately, and she wasn't able to kill them fast enough before his mighty rook caught her own king out.

“ Well done,” she said, as she tipped over her white king. “ Beat my ass. You should play Edelgard, assuming Claude wouldn't get jealous.”

“ He'd have no call to,” Ferdinand said. “ I've no wish to repeat my ancestor's declaration to hers.”

“ Your ancestor?” Lysithea said, quirking an eyebrow.

“ I'm surprised, given your family's historical ties to Adrestia, that you don't know the tale,” Ferdinand said. “ To my irritation, it's one of the most famous stories about my family. Derrick von Aegir, one of my ancestors, was challenged by a lady of Edelgard's line back about... I want to say about a hundred years before the Adrestian Empire was founded, back before we were gifted our Crests. Do forgive me for historical inaccuracy; the dates are not often mentioned when the tale is repeated.”

Lysithea waved him on. “ I'm no historian,” she said. “ You could tell me this happened last week and I'd just go along with it.”

Ferdinand chuckled as he continued. “ I will strive for accuracy regardless! But back to the tale. My ancestor was challenged by the then-Queen of Enbarr, Ladislava von Hresvelg the First- though she is often called an Emperor when the tale is repeated. Not technically true, since, obviously, there was no Adrestia to be Emperor of.”

“ Then why do people call her an Emperor?” Lysithea said.

Ferdinand shrugged. “ Adrestia is an old nation; I think some of my countrymen don't know that there was a time it didn't exist. Too many, even now, like to pretend that it still covers the continent; 'Enbarr speaks for Fodlan', too many say, even though the Kingdom and the Alliance would most likely have firm arguments against it.”

Lysithea snorted. “ Fools.”

“ I am in agreement,” the noble ginger replied. “ Ah, but I am digressing again, terrible habit. There was a duel, and it was over the throne. Derrick von Aegir was a famed warrior and statesman, and he was gaining great support; Ladislava worried that he would try to take her throne, so she challenged him in open court, wagering the throne on their great battle. Duels were quite respected in those days, and Ladislava's hope was that any loss on Derrick's part would destroy his credibility as a contender for her crown.”

“ She won, I presume? Given that the Hresvelgs are still sitting the throne in Enbarr,” Lysithea said, and Ferdinand laughed.

“ Indeed! She defeated him most handily, with a single blow! Warrior excellence is a tradition among the Hresvelgs, as Edelgard has proven. She beat him so completely that there was no question as to who had won. He was somewhat addled as he lay there, and looking up at her, he fell madly in love, though I personally suspect the concussion he was no doubt suffering was influencing his thoughts.”

“ He was _literally_ love-addled?” Lysithea said, and Ferdinand laughed.

“ I believe so! But as he lay there, he managed to come up with a phrase that is quite famous, even today.”

Ferdinand cleared his throat, and in operatic tone, said, “ 'You are an Imperial beauty! Please accept me as your husband!' There was more, but that's the part most remember.”

“ Impressive for a guy that just got his ass beat,” Lysithea asked.

“ Ladislava must have thought so too,” the noble redhead said. “ She married him. My family believes it to have been primarily a political ploy, since it consolidated all of Derrick's potential supporters to Hresvelg's side while removing him as a threat. Good move. As for him, he was entirely enraptured with her; family histories make it clear he was almost literally sick with his love for her. I am not sure if she ever loved him back, though that may merely be my own antipathy towards Edelgard coloring my views of the past.”

( She had, a truth Edelgard knew, her family records including Ladislava's own diary. Edelgard had read it, chasing knowledge of a family mostly dead, and- since she regarded Ferdinand as an annoyance- been rather grossed out by her ancestor's constant, smitten praise of Derrick. Ladislava's diary had one detail Ferdinand's family history didn't, though; the fact that the entire duel and marriage proposal had been something the duo arranged beforehand. Hresvelgs have always had a taste for political deception... and for falling in love so hard they left impact craters.)

Lysithea thought for a moment, then said, “ Wait, doesn't that make you and Edelgard kin? If your ancestors were married...”

“ Distant relations at best, if that much,” Ferdinand said with a shrug. “ My line descends from Derrick's older sister, who was the Head of our House at the time. Then, after Seiros and Wilhelm made the Empire, our family's political interests diverged heavily, and there has been relatively little intermarriage between our families since. We Aegirs prefer to stand on our own, instead of claiming Imperial blood to bolster our support; we mostly intermarry with other families.”

“ Who are _you_ gonna marry?” Lysithea asked. Probably rude, but Lysithea wasn't one to give a damn. “ I mean, you're the most high-ranked noble bachelor in Fodlan, but you don't seem all that interested in finding somebody. I guess you could always marry Lorenz, you two get along well.”

Ferdinand laughed. “ Marrying Lorenz would be odd,” he said. “ He's almost like the brother I never had; no, my feelings to him, warm as they are, don't lean romantic. It'd be weird.”

“ Not that you'd marry him. You'd do, what do you call it, oh yes. An _understanding,”_ Lysithea snorted, before bulling on ahead. “ Imperial cowardice! You should just do what Leceisterfolk do. Just marry the guy! Or if you like a guy and a girl, just marry both of them! Who's going to stop you?”

“ Spoken like a true madwoman of Leceister,” Ferdinand said, enjoying the moment of nationalistic sabre-rattling. “ But we Adrestians do not suffer the Alliance's free-spirited urge to kick tradition in the face at the slightest provocation. We of Adrestia like our ways, strange as they may be to you. And I did have a man in mind once, for an understanding, but... no... he... he turned me down.”

“ Hey, sorry,” Lysithea said as she saw Ferdinand frown, waving her hands to brush the conversation away. “ No need to drag up bad memories. I'm not that interested in other's love lives, we were just on the subject and I got curious. Just pretend I didn't say anything at all.”

That was as close to an apology as Lysithea, perpetually angry and with ever-wounded pride, could possible come in a normal situation, and Ferdinand acknowledged it with a nod.

“ Let us forget it, then. You are a good and kind woman, Lysithea,” the Adrestian said.

“ I've never been accused of that before,” she said with a grin.

“ But... well,” he continued. “ I have moved on, I hope, and I _am_ quietly looking for someone to love. It's not nobility or even power and prestige I'm looking for, I have all of those I will ever need; no, I'm looking for... something special. I'm looking for someone who is one-of-a-kind, I guess I'd say; I must admit, I am a terrible romantic, shocking as it must sound.”

“ The guy who yells his own name at monsters, dramatically romantic?” Lysithea snarked. “ I'd never have guessed.”

“ I know, it's hard to believe,” Ferdinand said with self-aware sarcasm.

“ Good luck,” Lysithea said. “ You'll need it, you are the unluckiest guy I know.”

“ I... in what way?” Ferdinand said, taken aback.

“ You wandered into the Death Knight on patrol,” Lysithea replied.

Ferdinand's face went thoughtful for a moment before he acquiesced. “ That's fair.”

Lysithea laughed. “ You know, you'll probably find'em, but they'll turn out to have some old soldier for a father who'll _hate_ you, some big guy with a big mean pet dog he can feed your corpse too- no, wait, with your luck, the guy'll have a pet wyvern. You're gonna live in fear of your father in law.”

Ferdinand's laughing response was cut off as a knock, almost on cue, echoed against her room's door.

“ It is I, Seteth,” the priest's voice said. “ May I come in?”

“ Of course!” Ferdinand said, getting up- only to sit back down as Lysithea put a hand out to him, and stood up, walking on her own two feet to the door.

“ I've got this,” she said, grunting slightly from residual pain. Walking didn't hurt as bad as it had, but it wouldn't be on her list of favorite activities ever again. That last march up to the Death Knight while under fire had cost her, badly; her damn pelvis felt like it was going to come loose and fall right out of her skin, and the rotations of her leg bones in her hips _hurt_.

She opened the door.

“ Greetings,” Seteth said. In his hand was a long, skinny wooden box, not unlike a coffin, though the body that would fit in it would be very thin indeed. “ It is good to see you up and about, Ms. von Ordelia. I must speak to you in private, if you've time.”

“ I've nothing but at the moment,” she said. “ Ferdinand can't stay?”

“ He can,” Seteth said, “ but I'd prefer to simply speak with you alone.”

“ It's no trouble!” Ferdinand said, swiftly cleaning up the board they'd been using and putting it back in its case along with the pieces, returning it to a nearby shelf. “ I can amuse myself for a time. How long do you think this will take, good Seteth?”

“ Not long,” he said.

“ Then I shall return forthwith!” Ferdinand said. “ After all, today is the day you finally return to the greater school! I believe we are due to meet the others in the tent for lunch.”

“ I eagerly await,” Lysithea deadpanned as Ferdinand left the room.

( The door of his own room was open when he returned, even though he knew he'd left it shut; and on his bed, laid beside his pillow, was a single black rose, perfectly formed, the pick of the greenhouse. It stopped him dead, and he realized the door had been left open on purpose, to tell him who had done this secret thing; and he picked up the rose and ran a finger gently along its petals before taking a deep breath of its scent, finding it sweet.)

-

Hubert sighed to himself as he left the infirmary's grounds. A simple thing, to leave Ferdinand a gift, a thing that said welcome back and get well and... other things...

But it still felt like a mistake. Edelgard had told him not to entertain any of Ferdinand's feelings, surprising as they had been; more surprising, that Hubert had felt himself returning them, that in this bright, sunny man he'd found someone who made his heart run a little fast.

Knowing Ferdinand had almost died... well, Hubert had wrestled with himself about it, but only now had he finally decided he'd leave a... a token. Let Ferdinand know that, if things were different...

Well. Hubert could come to an understanding with him, or believed he could, at least.

But he would think of it no more. Lady Edelgard would always be his first duty. No good could come of loving a man who had to die. The sins of Ludwig von Aegir were too great, the harm done to the Hresvelgs too much, to allow the son to live.

So he would allow his feelings to be something kept to the past. Let it be... what had Edelgard said Dorothea had told her? That loving Claude could be something good. A pebble in the pocket to keep. He'd do the same with Ferdinand.

He mused, as he walked, on the accidental converts to his Lady's cause. A wise woman, the songstress... And wiser still her lover. Petra MacNeary, only sixteen, and yet somehow the one person Hubert had ever met who could match his Lady head on. She had infuriated Edelgard, but in a strange way Hubert had never seen before; a way that... _frightened_ her.

He was going to talk to her today. He'd meant to do so earlier, but then the Midnight Duel had happened, and Lady Edelgard needed tending first after that debacle; but now that she was doing better, he would start that oft-delayed conversation. Claude would help her today, with his little gift, and Hubert was content to leave his Lady's joy in the foreign lord's hands for right now.

He moved on, a shadow seeking the sun.

-

“ So what brings you here?” Lysithea asked Seteth, the shadow mage's eyes curious as she rolled her shoulders, seeking to stretch some sore muscle or another, wavering a little on her feet.

“ Lysithea von Ordelia,” Seteth pronounced, voice grave and serious. “ You saved Flayn. I do not know the words to thank you for what you have done. So I will not bother with them. Words are air; but material things have weight to them, and I believe I have a gift that might express the depths of my gratitude.”

“ Ferdinand saved her too,” Lysithea said. “ If I'm getting something, so should he.”

( She would not think of it herself, but it was perhaps the greatest sign of her friendship with the Adrestian that Lysithea, so hungry for respect, would not claim all the glory of the Midnight Duel, but insist that Ferdinand be honored for his part in it, small as it was compared to her epic feats.)

“ Do not fear for your brave companion,” Seteth said. “ I have sent a letter to his father instructing him to release the great Relic of the House into his hands, and while I've not had a chance to tell the young man himself I've done that, I will soon. But I understand the Deer are going on a long trip soon, and thought that, perhaps, you would appreciate being well-armed for the journey, especially given that you are still recuperating.”

“ I'm fit to leave,” Lysithea said. She'd told Claude point-blank she'd kick him in the balls if he tried to stop her from going; he'd laughed, and Byleth had calmed her down by telling her in her monotone that she'd never intended to _not_ take the Deer's wildcat with them. As Teach had explained, if worst came to worst, Lysithea could just hitch a ride on a horse and hurl spells from behind someone else. The Blade Breakers had done just that when their best bowman had lost his legs. 

“ And you will be fitter still, with this at your side,” Seteth said, as he held up the long box he'd brought with him. Putting it on the same small table that had held the chessboard, he unlocked the three locks of the box, each requiring a separate key carved in the likeness of an Apostle, the Crests on the locks matching

( Rhea and her most trusted allies used them as skeleton keys; Seteth never carried a Cichol key, mostly because the idea of packing around his own head as a key weirded him out.)

As he undid the locks with careful, deliberate motions, he continued expositing on the gift he was about to give.

“ We found it three years ago, in the back of a monster, if you can believe it.”

The lock of Macuil popped open, the key shaped like the human form the windlord had despised.

“ One of the great wolves the Knights of Seiros killed in a monster hunt had it stuck near its spine.”

Indech's key, shaped like that wise soul, who had been so gregarious in dragon form, but shy and retiring as a human.

“ It was unbelievable. We had thought it lost; finding it like that... well, some called it a miracle.”

His daughter's key- appropriate, even if he hadn't mean to make it the last one. It was for saving her he was presenting this gift, after all.

“ This has come down the centuries, from its creation and first use in the hands of a great knight, to the back of a monster wolf, and now... to you.”

He pulled from the box a long, thin object, white cloth wrapped around it and tied with little silver bows. He pulled those out, and the cloth fell off in a clump like a snowbank, revealing a sword beneath.

Lysithea drew in a sharp breath. Not just any weapon, this. It was a rapier in design, though the blade was thicker than was standard for the type, the handle wrapped in heavy leather, a guard for the user's hand surrounding it and decorated with images of snowflakes and crescent moons. The metal blade above its six-pointed crossguard was strange, like nothing Lysithea had ever seen; it gleamed like new frost, sparkling gently where the light hit it. Long and thin was the blade, elegant and sharp as cutting wit, and as Seteth held it upright, Lysithea saw black writing on the silver, in some ancient script she could not read, like something glimpsed in a winter river beneath a top layer of ice. Seteth removed a scabbard from the box with his left hand, a jet-black thing with a small insignia near its top, of a great feline skull with two great fangs, teeth as long as sabres.

And in the air... the faintest smell, the scent of fresh snow, like the weapon had just been pulled from a pristine mountain icecap.

“ I... what is this?” Lysithea said, quietly, surprising even herself with the sense of awe she felt. The usually boisterous, angry young woman felt subdued, in the presence of this great thing; there was a sense of weight to the blade, of heaviness, of long time and great deeds. Her magic was reacting oddly to it, both her Crests mildly flaring; there was so much _magic_ on this blade, it was heavy with sorceries, it felt bigger than it looked, the iceberg's tip. She didn't even need her scholar's equipment to feel its power- or to feel that the power was kin of hers, cold and dark and comforting, like the quiet shadows of the cells she'd taken refuge in between violations.

“ Mercurius, the Sword of Wisdom,” Seteth answered her, as she stared at the sword in his hands. “ Also called the Archanean Inheritance, Wintertooth, and the Hero-King's Rapier. It should be a national treasure of Faerghus, part of the Kingdom's Regalia, save that it was lost at the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion. Its former owner was a great hero, famous for using two swords at the same time. Mercurius was the lesser of his two blades.”

( Kronya, awaiting orders in the Agarthan hideout in the Abyss and hoping she wouldn't screw up whatever task she got next, nervously ran her fingers over her Athame, not knowing that it was all that was left of the greater blade that ancient Faerghi hero had once wielded, a blade named _Nyna_.)

“ I... Seteth,” Lysithea said, mouth suddenly dry as he sheathed the blade. “ This... this should be in a cathedral, or... or a museum, or in Kingdom hands...”

“ It belongs to the Church,” Seteth said, shaking his head. “ As I said, it was lost until about three years ago, when we found it by accident. At the time, we asked the Kingdom if they wanted it, but their current King said he had no need of some old weapon, and gifted it to the Church.”

“ Who would be such a fool?” Lysithea said, boggling, and Seteth smiled.

“ Who indeed,” he said.

( Rufus, as it turned out, who was simply that damn stupid, and that incompetent. Cornelia's presence was almost unnecessary; Rufus could fuck up Faerghus all by himself, not because he was a womanizer, but because he gave no thought for his people or their needs, only his own.)

“ But regardless, it is mine, to keep or give away as I so choose. We repaired it, and it has waited for the hand of its new master... and I believe that hand belongs to _you._ ”

Enchantments no living human could replicate; Seteth had repaired it himself. This weapon was so old it predated Sothis' arrival, and he had enjoyed repairing it; this blade had its own spirit, but it was not one stolen from his dead kin, and so working with it had been a joy. He had been a maker of things, before... the war, before... everything, and it had felt good, to create again, to restore something to new.

“ I...” Lysithea said, still stunned... then shook her head, the proud magess rallying over her shock and disbelief. Fierce eyes met Seteth's own. “ You have my word I won't waste this gift.”

“ I know you won't,” Seteth said, as he offered the weapon to her, flat and horizontal. “ And if anyone challenges your right to bear it, remind them that it is a weapon- and weapons were meant to be _used_.”

She picked it up carefully, testing its weight, hand unconsciously finding the handle, her little hand fitting it perfectly.

“ Leather feels... interesting,” she said, after a moment, testing her grip. “ Soft to the touch, but... doesn't really bend when you grip it tight.”

“ It's made of the leather of great mammoths,” Seteth said. “ Albinean beasts the size of a house. Their leather is tricky to make, but the most resilient on the planet when you tan it right- and you're right, it's a lot nicer to feel than you'd think. That was the hardest part to fix; we had to import.”

Lysithea shook her head, barely restraining herself from bursting out into giggles of nervousness and wonder alike. “ Seteth... thank you.”

“ Thank  _you_ ,” he said. “ You saved Flayn. This is a fit reward. And fit for you, too; the lighter weight will not tire you as your last sword did, and the magic of the blade resonates with darkness like yours- this weapon was forged during a nighttime blizzard, and it has never lost that resonance. It's nearly perfect for you.”

_Also, so you have a weapon against the Agarthan menace_ , Seteth thought, but did not say. He had recognized the Death Knight's equipment... and his most likely supplier. Something was going on here... and the Deer were involved, as was their strange professor. If only Rhea would tell him what was going on...

But in the absence of the Archbishop's word, he would arm these little ones, who had fought against Agarthan abomination. The Church- whose words Seteth had mostly made up- claimed the angels wielded tongues of fire, his own private joke about the deadly breath of dragons; but these modern-day warriors would have to make do with swords of ice. It was all he could do, all the preparation he could risk, for he feared drawing the attention of Agarthan spies... or, perhaps worse, _Rhea's_ attention.

( What had happened to his life, that he could no longer trust his own kin?)

Besides... she had saved his daughter. Seteth paid his debts.

“ Are there any special requirements it needs?” Lysithea asked. “ Special tools for repairing it, special rituals to perform, things of that nature?”

“ A few,” Seteth said, drawing from the long box a small sheaf of paper. “ I've written them down here. The most recurring issue is that the blade will not sharpen properly unless you sharpen it at night. Other things are detailed within these pages.”

“ Thank you so much,” Lysithea said again. “ Just one quick question. I saw writing on it... what does it say? I didn't recognize the language.”

“ The script is actually why I thought of giving it to you in the first place,” Seteth said. “ It's in Old Faerghus, which is a very dense language. That one line's fairly long in modern Fodlan... but a good translation would be  _Let no fear of death arrest the course of a great mind._ ”

Lysithea mulled that over, and smiled.

“ That's not so bad,” she said.

( And in her head, she thought _Pretty good motto for a dying girl._ )

-

The stables were surprisingly busy today.

Ingrid was tending her pegasus, whose name Edelgard hadn't caught; she was a big mare for a pegasus, meaning she'd be about normal size for a horse. The feathered equine was apparently feeling fussy, kept nibbling at Ingrid's long braid, determined to eat it; Ingrid, apparently used to this kind of thing, just rolled her eyes as she kept her bird-horse's teeth off of her hair.

A few stalls away, Marianne was petting and feeding a slim black stallion whose name was, apparently, Dorte, given what she was half-humming and singing as she fed him apples. He was a classically Leceister animal, slender and a bit on the small side, with the concave swoop to his head and high tail carriage that were the marks of a well-bred Leceister breed- and also gave them a weird face, in Edelgard's opinion. Bugged out eyes and a skinny skull, like they were perpetually being shocked at a fancy party. Nothing like a proper Adrestian warhorse, the heavy warmbloods that produced the destriers Adrestian lords rode...

But you couldn't beat the Leceister breeds for pure speed. Animals from Derdriu's ranches always won the major racing and jumping competitions in Fodlan, even if they failed at most of the other tasks. She'd heard they were descended from long-legged, delicate Almyran horses, interbred with short, stout Leceister mountain ponies.

_Hybrids like Claude, then_ , she thought, grinning to herself at the swift mental image that popped up of a horse wearing Claude's coat. 

Past the two girls tending their beasts were Hilda and Rhea's Almyran servant Cyril, hauling hay and mucking out stables... and watching Goneril, a Duke's daughter, perform the work of a common laborer was as weird to see now as it had been the first time Edelgard had seen it. What _was_ going on there? Was she trying to recruit Cyril for Claude? Was Cyril secretly a spy for Almyra, working for Claude, and the labor was how they were passing intel back and forth?...

... _That's ridiculous, Edelgard_ , she told herself, and pushed it aside.  _Not everyone is involved in a conspiracy like you are._

As she had the thought, Hilda took a break, hopping over to sneak a kiss from her girlfriend, pecking her cheek sweetly. Marianne blushed, and Dorte nickered, apparently approving; Hilda laughed and Marianne's blush only grew deeper. Galatea apparently didn't approve, her spine growing stiff as the two lovebirds held hands for a moment, but Edelgard dismissed the Faerghi. Hilda and Marianen were a cute couple.

(  _And you're going to kill them_ -)

No.

No, not today, no voices inside her head today, just the sketch in her hands, the sweet shivery anticipation of Claude's arrival, and the gift he had for her, to trade for the gift she had for him. Nothing more. Hubert had told her of their meeting yesterday and she'd prepared. She had something for him to take with him on his trip, in reward for him making her something special. 

And that was it for today. Nothing else, not truth, not rage, just Claude, just today.

...Well, Claude and Bernie.

Her eyes flickered to a nearby empty stall, where Bernie was hiding in the shadows like the world's least talented assassin. The purple-haired girl's eyes were jumping all around, keeping watch for any threat, even as she herself was squeezed into a corner and hiding from all potential social activity.

This was Hubert's fault; he'd apparently asked Bernadetta to accompany Edelgard today, since he'd be busy with other work. Bernie, who had no idea how to be a retainer, had thrown herself at the task with terrified nerves and mostly misaligned energy, and was somehow simultaneously doing a great job and a terrible one, which wasn't something Edelgard had thought a person could do.

Take the stool Edelgard was sitting at, for example, along with the stool next to her. When Edelgard had asked Bernie where they might get some, Bernie had torn off and grabbed some extras from one of the monastery's maintenance closets, since Bernie had apparently been raiding those same closets for material to sew with and noticed one that had some stools. Good, efficient, exactly what a retainer should do.

Then Bernie had tripped coming back and nearly fallen down the stairs to the marketplace. Edelgard had barely been able to catch her in time. 

Now, having placed the stools, Bernie had asked what she should do, and Edelgard had told her that standing guard was what Hubert usually did when he had ought else to do, but to be discreet about it.

That was why Bernadetta von Varley, daughter of one of the most prominent noble Houses in Adrestia, was currently crammed into a dark, empty stable like a trapdoor spider, nervously watching everything. Edelgard would have laughed if she wasn't aware of how badly Bernie would have taken it- and after all her good deeds, after saving her, Edelgard would no more hurt Bernie than she would hurt herself. 

( _Trust me_ , the archer had said, to a girl the world mostly betrayed; and then Bernie had risked it all to save Edelgard's life. Like Claude in the forest, putting their lives on the line for her, these sweet gifts of rescue given to a girl who had prayed for it, once, and heard no answer; who has now been twice before the reaper, and had other hands take his scythe from him.)

_We'll have to teach her,_ Edelgard thought warmly.  _She's so much braver than she thinks._

But that was long and slow work, and not something that needed doing right now. Edelgard turned to the business at hand. She was sitting on a stool outside the smallest stable, one reserved usually for sick animals, but today, hosting a most unusual guest. She had a sketchbook in hand, working with a charcoal stick, attempting to draw the stall's inhabitant.

That very being was a very small albino wyvern, a little thing, not much bigger than a big, fat housecat. Its scales were a pale and milky white, its teeth so soft its meat had to be partially mushed for it to eat, and its eyes were angry little pink things that stared at her with _fathomless_ hatred.

Coming from an animal barely big as her boot, it wasn't very threatening. It was kind of... funny. Actually, it was  _really_ funny, to have something so small be so angry, and Edelgard couldn't help a grin as she looked at the imperious little beast. 

You wouldn't think a body that small could contain so much raw hatred. She hadn't expected a newborn wyvern to be so small... and she  _certainly_ hadn't expected it to be so feisty. It clearly had that same disease that convinced little dogs they could tackle big dogs and win.

As if sensing her thoughts, the baby wyvern puffed itself up as big as it could get- which wasn't much- and let out a little roaring trill, scratching the dirt threateningly with its long back legs and thumping its little tail. The overall effect was much like a toddler's tantrum, and Edelgard's smile only grew at the display.

“ Oh, stop that,” Edelgard said, unable to help herself. The thing was just so _cute_. “ It's hard to draw you when you won't sit still.”

It chirped at her angrily again.

“ Now, now, I'm a small thing, too. You get used to it.”

And you did. She wasn't sure how tall she'd be without the experiments- her parents weren't very big people, and you had to go far back in either family line to find anyone of real height- but as it was, she was a small thing, and she'd gotten used to it. Being able to reach high shelves without a stepladder would be nice, but you just learned where the stepladders were and got on with your life.

( Or made Hubert get things for her; she _hated_ to admit it, but the running joke at the monastery, started by Sylvain, was true. Hubert _did_ indeed have to reach for tall things for her, to her eternal annoyance.)

As she was sketching the wyvern, Bernie skittered out of her hiding spot.

“ Claude's coming!” she squeaked quietly to her Emperor, limbs all gawky and flailing, resembling a spider having a seizure.

“ Thank you,” Edelgard said, managing not to laugh as Bernie immediately scuttled back to her dark little retreat again, hand on the dagger at her waist. Marianne saw her go, and watched her with a confused expression, head cocked to the side, but wisely choice not to ask questions, going back to brushing Dorte's mane.

Edelgard turned to look, and caught a glimpse of him just as his voice reached the stables.

“ Hilda!” Claude yelled, his voice somehow carrying his smile, a covered tray in his hands as the wind blew his golden cape gently behind him in the breeze, the way the capes of heroes were supposed to do in the old stories.

“ What?” the Goneril asked, leaning on her pitchfork. “ Can't you see I'm working?”

“ Are you still bothering poor Cyril?” Claude mock-chided her. “ What terrible deed has he done, to be cursed with your company for so long? Relent in your wickedness, woman!”

“ Cursed? _Cursed?_ I'll have you know he appreciates my help!” Hilda yelled back. “ Unlike _some_ people, he's glad for the assistance!”

“ The poor lad!” Claude announced dramatically. “ Will no one save him from his tormentor?”

Edelgard, smitten, just watched in silence as Claude finished coming up from the marketplace.

“ Hilda's acceptable,” Cyril said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard. “ She works.”

“ Holy shit, Hilda, Cyril says you're alright,” Claude said, making an exaggerated expression of shock and putting one hand over his heart, balancing the tray in the other. “ Is Cyril okay? Is he dying? Sick?”

“ Sick of your shit, but otherwise okay,” Cyril remarked casually, and the three Deer laughed, even Marianne, who seemed almost surprised by her own laughter.

“ You're alright, Cyril,” Claude said as he finished. He turned his head and saw her, and smiled. “ Hey, beautiful. Just the lady I wanted to see!”

“ So I heard,” Edelgard replied. “ Here- a seat for you.”

Claude headed over, taking the proffered seat, and gazing curiously at the albino wyvern.

“ So who's this little sweetie?” he said.

“ He doesn't have a name,” Edelgard said, blushing a little at Claude's presence so near her, and enjoying the sensation. She'd never had anything like this before, and it was... it was nice, just having him near.

On a whim, she leaned over and kissed his cheek; just a peck. Claude's face lit up like a candle.

“ I... oh,” he said, stuttering as his warm brown skin flushed with crimson underneath, and Edelgard giggled, even as her own cheeks tried to redden. Mighty Claude, so full of words, stopped silent by nothing more than a little pressure from her lips.

( That level of control over someone... it _pleased_ her... hmm. Well, Edelgard was learning all _kinds_ of things about herself these days!)

The wyvern chose that moment to trill at Edelgard, and not even knowing much about wyverns, it was obviously a warning sort of sound, like a dog's barking.

“ Hush, you,” she said. “ I'm just sketching you. He's quite fussy.”

“ Well, _she_ is,” Claude said. “ No dewclaws on the back legs- males use those for fighting during mating season- and her horns up front are bigger. They use those in contests with other females over who gets what caves. Lot of competition for the ones too high up for the snakes to climb to.”

“ Snakes?” Edelgard said.

“ Yeah,” the Almyran answered, as the wyvern, apparently irritated that Edelgard wasn't taking her seriously, began a strange hopping dance, tail slithering around, bobbing her head up and down. “ And wow, she is mad at you. Not like she could do much harm, she's just a baby. But to your question- sea snakes. Wyverns nest along the coast, and the sea snakes just love to climb up and grab a big ol' bite of wyvern egg, or even the hatchlings late in the season. Mama wyverns have to fight them off if they're close to sea level. Higher up you are, the fewer snakes you deal with.”

“ Hmm,” Edelgard said, then nodded to the wyvern. “ What is it doing now?”

“ Oh, it's... heh, that's adorable looking,” he said. “ It's really mad at you. Wants to fight. She's a bit young for that, though, her wings aren't even finished forming yet; she'll keep them close and tucked up to her body for a few weeks yet, lets the bones finish firming up and the skin toughen. Well, if they feed her properly- she looks half-starved.”

“ Does she?” Edelgard said. Claude nodded.

“ She's too skinny. If she's going to reach her proper size she needs more food- and you want her to reach that proper size, she's going to be a whopper as an adult.”

“ How can you tell?” Edelgard said. “ I have to admit, I find all of this fascinating; I like nature.”

“ Me too,” Claude said, and his grin was so pretty Edelgard almost missed his next few worsd. “ As for how I know, well,l wyvern breeders I knew taught me a trick- it's the wings. They're the surest sign of future size as an adult. Big wings as a baby means big wyvern as an adult, and she's got huge wings for her size, even though they're not done yet. What's she doing by herself?”

“ I asked a Knight,” Edelgard said. “ He said they weren't sure what to do with an albino, and were afraid her littermates would go after her.”

“ Not common,” Claude said. “ Wyverns are fairly solitary, and the babies don't do a lot of in-fighting. No need when they'll never see each other again once they leave the nest. It's not a great idea to put her out like this, though... you want them bonding with humans from a young age. If they want to make a flyer out of her, she's going to need someone to spend time with her, and feed her... feed her a lot.”

He paused in his monologue, then laughed, brushing his hair back. “ Sorry. Rambling about wyverns... that's the most stereotypical thing an... an Almyran could do, I guess.”

“ It _is_ part of your national heritage,” Edelgard said, treading softly. He still seemed so unsure... but she was glad to hear him talk of his bloodline. A person shouldn't be ashamed of what they were. “And I liked hearing it, so no need to apologize.”

She looked at the hopping little wyvern, still mad, and said, “ What do they eat?”

“ Fish, mostly,” Claude said.

“ Fish?” Edelgard said, turning a quirked eyebrow to Claude. “ I wasn't aware fish were common in the desert.”

“ They're not,” he said with a laugh. “ But wyverns mostly stay on the coasts, using the thermal updrafts to make flying easier. They eat a lot of fish, and the babies eat nearly nothing else, because that's what their mamas catch for them. Then they eventually upgrade to eating your sheep and you either kill them or tame them, which is more or less how Almyra came to be a nation of wyvern riders.”

“ Maybe we should get her some fish,” Edelgard said. “ If they're not going to take care of her properly, _somebody_ should do it.”

“ Yeah,” he said. “ That's not half-bad. We'll even name her, if no one else will.”

“ I hope you do the honors,” Edelgard said. “ I am _terrible_ with names.”

“ Really? Well, in that case...”

His shoulders started to shake, as he wrestled with himself, trying not to laugh about something. Edelgard turned to him, amused, as he bit down gently on his lip to keep himself from laughing, looking cuter than the little wyvern ever had, her hand unconsciously going to an empty corner of her sketchpad and doodling a quick image of Claude, trying not to giggle.

“ I... heh, ha, I've, I've got a name.”

“ Do you?” Edelgard said, dreading _and_ anticipating what he was about to say.

“ Indeed,” he said, not quite able to keep the laughter out of his voice, sounding just a little bit strained. “ It's very... appropriate. Yes. Not dumb at all. Most, heh, clever.”

“ I'm ready to be amazed,” Edelgard said dryly, and a high-pitched giggle escaped him.

“ I choose... Potato.”

Edelgard blinked as Claude snickered.

“ Potato? You... _why_?”

“ Well, if you peel a potato, it's white underneath, right? Usually. She's kind of that same color, so you know. Potato!”

“ It's a _wyvern_ , Claude, you can't name it _Potato_ -”

“ Maybe she likes it?” he suggested, still shaking with repressed laughter. “ Hey, girl, do you wanna be a Potato?”

The wyvern glared at him contemptuously, then in an almost human gesture, spit at him.

“ I quite agree,” Edelgard said, as Claude lost his composure and started laughing. “ Claude von Riegan, how can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?”

( _We Deer all wonder the same thing_ , Hilda thought, but did not say, giving her duke his privacy, even though she was close enough to overhear Edelgard's question.)

“ It's a gift,” Claude said regally as he finished laughing. “ A true talent, honed over many years.”

“ ...We can't name the wyvern Potato,” Edelgard said, unable to let the absurdity go unchallenged. “ I... a wyvern should have a grand, majestic name, something to inspire fear in your enemies and courage in your allies, not be named after... after a root vegetable!”

“ I find Potato _very_ inspiring,” Claude said, almost finishing it with a straight face before a grin broke out on him. “ If you name a wyvern Deathtooth, you know what you're getting, but Potato? Who knows what _that_ means! The possibilities are endless! It'll confuse all her foes.”

“ Or make them hungry,” Edelgard said, biting her own lip to keep from smiling. She would _not_ encourage Claude to continue this silliness. “ There... it _can't_ be Potato.”

“ If you can come up with something, I'll acquiesce,” Claude said. “ We're both adopting this wyvern, after all, we have equal naming rights.”

“ We- adopting?” Edelgard said. “ Who said anything about adoption?”

“ Now, now, Edelgard, you can't decide you don't want our new daughter Potato,” Claude said. “ We've adopted her, and there's no turning back from that kind of personal commitment. We have a kid now, it's time to shape up.”

“ I didn't adopt the damn wyvern!” Edelgard said, face contorting as she tried to keep herself from laughing, her own shoulders starting to shake. “ I just sketched her!”

“ Edelgard! How _dare_ you- rejecting our poor daughter- she's right _there_! Now I'm going to have to be a single father, and raise our daughter, Potato von Hresvelg, by myself-”

“ Wait,” Edelgard said, as her willpower began to break down, “ Wait, why does- why does she have _my_ last name?”

“ She wanted to remember the parent that abandoned her!” Claude said. “ Very emotional decision for her, you should have seen it.”

“ I _just_ disowned her!” Edelgard protested, quivering where she sat as she tried not to give in to the bubbling laughter in her belly. She rallied one last time against Claude's magnificent bullshit. “ She didn't have time to give herself a new name- wait, she's a wyvern, she can't _talk!_ ”

“ It was a very fast emotional decision, these things move quick in the young!” Claude said. “ And she can too speak, though she has a Faerghus accent, I don't know _where_ she picked that up from.”

Potato chose that moment to trill again.

“ See? That's the thickest Faerghi accent I've ever heard,” Claude said, and that was it, Edelgard lost. She laughed, she laughed until her belly hurt, laughed the way she hadn't in a long, long time, and he laughed with her, for a moment the two of them were not who and what they were, a lord and a lady, but just two teenagers in love laughing at a stupid joke.

Something ran down Edelgard's face, and when she reached up to touch it, her hand came away... wet?...

Tears, tears in her dry eyes. Tears of laughter, not sorrow... but tears, nonetheless, where there had been none in so long. She marveled at them as she wiped them away, still smiling, took a second just to gaze upon the salt on her fingers.

( Yet another gift, from this man who gave her so much.)

“ You are a deeply silly person, Claude,” she said finally, as she wiped the last happy tears from her eyes. “ I think I love that about you.”

“ I was wondering what you saw in me,” he admitted cheerfully, and she dragged him into a kiss.

( Hilda, inspired, kissed Marianne too. Bernie didn't notice either kiss, too paranoid that sudden disaster would find her Lady and busy watching for it. Ingrid noticed both kisses too much, blushing as she hurriedly finished her business with her pegasus and then fled, ignored by both couples. Dorte didn't give a damn, because he was a horse.)

“ But beyond... Potato...” Edelgard said, “ I believe you had a gift for me.”

“ Oh.. yeah,” he said, almost shyly, subdued by her kiss. The covered tray in his left hand, forgotten, took center stage again as he put it before himself. “ I made these for you- and if you don't like them, it's Hubert's fault.”

“ How so?”

“ I asked him what you liked,” the would-be confectioner said. “ He suggested something sweet, but new, so I thought... hey, how about Almyran delights? Though they're actually called lokum.”

“ I've heard of them, but never gotten a chance to eat them,” Edelgard said.

“ I'm sure you'll want Hubert to check for poison, so I got this covered tray for them so they'll keep. Little cubes of sweetness, flavored like roses, dusted with sugar. Quite a treat! Rose is a bit of an acquired taste, but hey, worst comes to worst, just send'em back, and I'll eat them; haven't had proper lokum in years!”

“ I'm sure I'll love them,” Edelgard said, taking the tray in her hands. Hmm, she needed somewhere to put this...

At her side, almost before she'd noticed, was Bernadetta, darting out of cover to be by her side.

“ I-can-take-it!” she said, the words not entirely separating out intelligibly in the crawling panic-induced speed with which she was speaking. “ I'll-keep-them.”

“ Thank you, Bernie,” Edelgard said, handing the tray to her. “ If you could return that to your room, then come back at your leisure, I'd appreciate it.”

“ Okay!” Bernie said, brightening at the prospect of returning to her lair, before her face fell. “ I'll be back really soon!”

“ Take your time, Bernie,” Edelgard said, as the girl took off, clutching the tray tightly in both hands.

“ Poor thing,” Claude said. “ Proud of her for being outside, though. I've heard she didn't even come out during the fire, so it's a big step for her.”

“ Yes,” Edelgard said, spine shivering a little. He'd noticed... well, of _course_ he'd noticed, he was _Claude_. “ I am hoping to lessen her fears, but the work is slow.”

“ Good work, though,” Claude said. “ Sometimes you just need other people's help.”

“ Speaking of,” Edelgard said. “ Claude, I have a gift for you as well.”

“ Oh! You shouldn't have,” he said. “ But if you're offering, it'd be rude to say no.”

“ Maybe,” Edelgard said. “ I'm not sure you'll want to accept it, and I want you to know I will not hold it against you if you say no.”

“ ...Well, now I'm curious,” Claude said.

“ You mentioned, when we talked of your... heritage... that you might wield an axe, instead of a bow, if given your preference,” Edelgard said.

Claude nodded. “ Ah. You want to give me an axe?”

He'd figured it out swiftly- as she'd expected. “ It's an Adrestian design, magically designed to deliver poisons to the target. Given your proclivities towards poison, I thought you'd appreciate having it as an option. The design is quite Adrestian, and doesn't much resemble the more curved weapons of Almyra... but if you do not want it, know I will take no offense if you turn it down.”

Claude's face was pensive a moment, then he shook his head. Edelgard's spirit fell- he was going to reject it- but his next words surprised her.

“ Then.. I accept.”

“ Really?” Edelgard said. “ You were shaking your head...”

“ At my own cowardice,” he said, standing up a bit straighter, eyes set and determined. “ Not your offer. I accept. It's... high time I stopped hiding myself.”

Then he smiled, and he was the gentler boy she knew.

“ After all, if a woman such as yourself doesn't find it a problem, why should I care what anyone else thinks?”

“ Precisely,” Edelgard said. “ It's in my room; I figured if you didn't want it, I'd use it for my own. They're designed after shark teeth; we call them makos in Enbarr, though the rest of Adrestia and Fodlan both call them venin axes, an old corruption of 'venom.' A good weapon, if a bit needlessly cruel; still, sometimes that's what you need.”

“ Dead is dead,” Claude said pragmatically. “ Honestly that might work out. Poison's good against monsters, and we're going to be clearing out a whole nest of them.”

“ Be careful,” Edelgard said. “ Do come home safe, Claude.”

“ You know, traditionally, kisses are good luck,” he said, blushing softly. “ For... departing soldiers.”

“ Well, I _am_ an Adrestian,” Edelgard replied. “ Who am I to deny tradition?”

She pulled him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very important; Seteth has no idea Flayn has joined the Deer. He assumed Byleth would deny her.
> 
> This would be a VERY DIFFERENT chapter otherwise.


	23. II.IV: Little Talks between a Monster and Two Men, Halloween Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cornelia and Dimitri and Dedue, and the terrible weight of revelation.  
> ( Of betrayals, of wondering how much more your heart could take, of having your breath taken away.)

**Act II**

**Sable Storm**

**Chapter IV**

**Little Talks between a Monster and Two Men, Halloween Gambit**

**11 th of the Horsebow Moon**

Breathe in.

Dimitri stood before the door to Cornelia's private office, wavering a little where he stood. Dedue was beside him, as ever, and he leaned on the man's dependability, even as he felt guilty for it being there in the first place, along with a drugged mixture of other things, most of which he himself could not parse.

Dedue simply stood with him, and did not make him press forward before his time, and for that, Dimitri felt an emotion towards him he _could_ parse- gratitude. 

Breathe out.

It was early in the day- very early, the sun having just appeared over the horizon, morning just begun. Cornelia had sent the message late yesterday through her male servant, who had apologized profusely on her behalf; apparently meetings with the school staff had taken up the rest of Cornelia's day, and she'd been unable to speak with them directly afterwards as she'd apparently hoped. Dimitri, in the midst of teaching the orphans, couldn't remember if Cornelia had said she'd wanted to see him or not, but had accepted the apology nonetheless.

So now, this morning, they were having that meeting- just him, Cornelia, and Dedue. What did she want?

( _To berate you for being a failure, you haven't avenged us, you can't lead Faerghus, you're a failure Dimitri,_ _ **failure**_ )

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

Out.

“ Okay,” Dimitri said in that exhalation, and knocked once, twice, three times, delicately and gently, hoping he would not break something today.

The door withstood the hand that had lifted a wagon (and earned Raphael's undying admiration in the process), the knock resounding like a funeral bell. A moment later came Cornelia's voice, sweet as arsenic.

“ Come in, Prince Dimitri, Mr. Molinaro! We have a lot to discuss.”

Dimitri checked his mask one more time, making sure he looked right, that bristles and tusks did not jut from the sides, and then opened the door, gently, gently, please, I don't want to break anything today. He felt... so  _nervous_ , the way he felt every time he met a Kingdom noble, the way they looked at him, as if they couldn't believe  _this_ was their Prince. He failed them, he had failed them before they ever met, they always weighed him and he was always found wanting...

Then they'd look at Dedue, and he'd have to concentrate on not being  _angry_ , on not letting loose the Boar inside, on not saying or  _doing_ something that would damage his standing even further, that would push the dream of Duscur's rebirth further from reality than it already was.

He swallowed, as he entered the office. A weird sensation crawled up his skin as he entered, but he barely noticed it through his own turmoil, dismissing it as a hallucination of his deluded senses, like so much else he experienced.

With senses he _hoped_ he could trust, he saw that it was a rather normally decorated office, though he supposed the healer hadn't had much time to personalize it. She was located in the upper wing of the main building, in one of the siderooms that wasn't used much, and the room still had that thin smell of unused places, that unique bouquet that was half dust and half decay. A shredded web still dangled from the doorframe's top, where some enterprising spider had its work ruined by Cornelia's entrance.

( Dedue noticed it, and could not help but remember something his mother had told him once, of one of dead Duscur's forgotten superstitions- that one should not tear a spider's web. A spider's web trapped evil things, after all, and to rip it was to set them free... and when he hit the field of Cornelia's shielding magic a moment later, he could not suppress a shudder.)

Cornelia sat at her desk, writing something, but put it away as they walked inside. Cornelia's eyes flicked up to Dimitri, and then to Dedue- but rather than that tightening in the eyes he hated so much, rather than anything that might tear off the mask he'd just put on... she just looked at him. No hatred in her eyes, just the same interest she'd shown Dimitri.

_...Good_ , Dimitri thought. It fit with the woman he'd met yesterday, but it was... nice, to see confirmation. He was so used to the contempt Dedue inspired in his countrymen that Cornelia's reactions to his presence were still surprising, even after all the evidence he'd seen that Cornelia was not like other Faerghi.

( True, Cornelia was quite different from other Faerghi, if for reasons Dimitri had no cause to know, and would never have been able to guess.)

She wasn't wearing the dress she'd had on yesterday, the... err... _interesting_ outfit she'd greeted them in. She was wearing a much more modest getup, an Academy dress of blacks and whites, with a stylized little blue lion on her chest, her cleavage safely tucked away.

_Thank the Goddess_ , Dimitri thought. Life was difficult enough without... distraction. Much less two of them, on such a beautiful, noble woman...

He pushed those thoughts, and the burgeoning blush on his cheeks, aside.  _Focus, Dimitri._

( Do not blame him for his puppy-dog crush. A beautiful older woman, who did not look on his closest friend with contempt, who offered him aid and words of encouragement; this was a rare enough thing in his life that it is hard to blame Dimitri for being sweet on her. In those timelines in which Byleth taught the Lions, she often ended up Queen of Faerghus for the same reasons- albeit with the added history of being the one who had pulled him out of his berserker fury.)

“ My Prince, Mr. Molinaro! Good to see you,” she said, greeting them cheerfully. “ I do apologize for the delay in getting you in here. I had initially planned to speak with you yesterday after our meeting, but then the Church officials had to talk to me, and by the time we finished it was too late for our meeting. I trust nothing untoward has happened in the meantime.”

Dimitri nodded. “ I... we have been well, Lady Cornelia.”

“ Please,” she said, smiling gently at him, in a way no one had smiled at him since his mother and father had died. “ Call me Cornelia. You're the Prince; you have a right to be a bit more familiar.”

She turned to Dedue, giving him a nod. “ I extend that courtesy to you as well, Mr. Molinaro.”

Dedue nodded stiffly, surprised at her utter lack of reserve towards him; if Dimitri found her behavior surprising, Dedue found it almost unbelievable. “ Thank you, Lady- apologies. Thank you, Cornelia.”

“ It'll take some time to get used to it,” the healer said with amusement, smile an impish thing of mischief. It faded, and she put her hands before her in a steeple, face serious. “ I have a matter of some import to discuss with you both. Orders have come to me from Rufus. Nothing official, of course. He wants it all deniable.”

“ What is he requesting, that he could not do so in a letter to Dimitri?” Dedue asked.

( In her brain, Cornelia grinned as a theory was confirmed; the Duscur  _was_ the smarter of the two. Dimitri seemed lost, but Dedue had already gripped onto the core strangeness of the lie she was telling. She mentally adjusted her next few words; it was the retainer she had to convince, not the Prince.)

“ Rufus does not want it to be known that he addressed this issue at all,” the mighty magess said to the duo, though she was looking at Dedue. “ He would deny it if asked... and probably throw the blame off on me. I suspect that's part of why he told me to go in the first place, so he'd have someone to throw the responsibility off on.”

“ What does he want? Rufus takes little interest in my affairs,” Dimitri said.

( He did not add  _and what interest he does take is negative._ He was familiar with Rufus' contempt, with the way Rufus always looked down on him, alongside his ever-changing court of fellow hedonists.)

“ I apologize for presenting this to you,” Cornelia said. “ And I want you to know that I have an idea to mollify what he is asking, to help you. It is not an easy thing he has asked of me; I am not like other Faerghi. Perhaps it is because I was an Adrestian, once, though I embrace my new home... but I bear no disdain for Duscur, and believe we did them a great wrong.”

“ Do you?” Dimitri said, and stared into her eyes. Many had lied to him, claimed they sympathized with his publicly-known cause, but there had always been something to tell the truth of it in their faces; some ugliness, some amusement they thought hidden in their eyes, when they assumed that Dimitri was a simple rock to move and Duscur a lever to move him with.

But in her eyes... in the great emerald expanses of her eyes, Dimitri found nothing that said she was lying. He was not the most socially apt man, but he had gotten used to dealing with liars, and... there was no lie in the light green of her pupils.

_Emerald eyes,_ he thought with an air of wonder, still a little entranced by her beauty, seeing her face now that her body was not so vibrantly on display and finding it sharp and lovely.  _I heard Annette say emeralds could cure cholera when you poured light through them... how appropriate for a healer, to have emerald eyes..._

He realized he was staring into her eyes, and felt suddenly shy and self-conscious, looking away awkwardly as a sense of something... warm... pooled pleasantly in his guts. She grinned as he looked away, a pretty curving of her lips, and his cheeks were suddenly warm, too.

“ Apologies,” he said, blushing bright red. “ A... great many nobles have thought to trick me onto their side by faking sympathy for the Duscur.”

“ No need to apologize,” Cornelia said warmly. “ I am not surprised that others would lie about this. You are a prince, Dimitri; many will seek to use you for their own ends. But I am not like them.”

“ No, I... I don't think you are,” Dimitri said.

“ If the matter involves Duscur,” Dedue said, having pondered the matter as Dimitri and Cornelia spoke, “ then I believe I know what you are about to say.”

Cornelia sighed.

“ I imagine you do,” she said, expression downcast. She looked up at Dimitri, and made her plea to him directly, eyes and face earnest.

( It was the Duscur she had to convince, after all- and the fastest route to doing it was his sympathy towards Dimitri.)

“ Prince Dimitri- I beg of you, hear me out. You will have a hard reaction to what I am about to ask, and I understand that. I truly do. But hear me out; I have a way to comply with Rufus' demand, and to subvert it, at the same time.”

Dimitri felt almost pinned by that gaze, spiked on some pleasant thorn of the lotus eaters, such was the intensity of her gaze.

“ I will hear you out,” he promised her, and her smile was a sweet reward.

“ Thank you,” Cornelia said, then sighed and steeled herself for what was to come. “ King Rufus has asked me to deliver this message to you, and these are _his_ words, not mine. The message was this: the Duscur has to go. Dismiss him from your service.”

“  _Never_ ,” Dimitri growled, all his pleasant feelings suddenly gone, blind with rage, ready to travel across Faerghus to his uncle and strangle him in his sleep. Saving Dedue was the  _one_ good thing he had ever done in a life of depravities, he had saved Dedue even as all his people died and he would  _kill_ Rufus-

( _avenge us avenge us_ _**avenge us!** _ )

“ Wait, my Prince, I have a plan-”

“ I'm not abandoning him. That is  _final_ ,” the Boar  _growled_ , that thing inside his skin that so few knew about, the muscles in his arms suddenly bulged from effort as he restrained himself from violence, which sat so close to his surface. Dedue moved to intervene.

“ Dimitri, remember the two Kingdom soldiers, discussing me? Not a week ago-” Dedue began, before Dimitri cut him off.

“ I don't  _care_ what they say, Dedue, I'm not... Dedue, I won't cast you aside,” Dimitri said. “ I refuse. Let them speak as they will! I... I cannot do without you, Dedue.”

There were... tears there, at the end. Tears, at the thought of Dedue leaving.

Dedue didn't know how to respond to that, he had no idea what he was _supposed_ to do with that. A familiar situation, sadly; he never had managed to figure out just what he and Dimitri really were, to each other.

How could he? Saved by the very prince of the people who had murdered his own, a nobody commoner citizen of his home nation suddenly made responsible, by accident, for holding together a prince's cracked skull, even as his own threatened to split. Brothers and friends and something closer, but too close, somehow, needing each other too much to have space as separate people to agree to anything more.

( Dedue, in the secret places of his heart, was jealous of the other retainers. Hubert's service to Edelgard was an ancient family tradition, Hilda's a new thing that she clearly adored... but Dedue's service to Dimitri was poisonous, a thing of too much dependence, and they both knew it, though they never talked about it. They needed each other too much for this to be entirely healthy for either of them.)

Dimitri knew none of these thoughts, knew only this great gulping fury, he wanted to grab Cornelia and crack her skull in his hands and find Rufus throttle him drown him in the drink he so enjoyed beat him make his skull _red paste on white floor_ -

A hand on his shoulder, heavy, weighing him down so that the whirlwind of his fury did not pick him up and scatter him to pieces.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

“ I believe you said you would hear her out,” Dedue said, his hand on Dimitri's shoulder the only steady thing in the Prince's universe, the only solid ground the horrible whirlwind of his thoughts could touch down on.

“ I... yes,” Dimitri said, shame washing over him, putting a hand before his face as if his mask was literal, gripping his nose so tight he almost broke it. Not a second after agreeing, he had failed to live up to his own words...

Breathe out.

When he felt like a man, and not a monster, he looked up with contrite eyes at Cornelia and said, “ I apologize. My... emotions ran away with me.”

After his shameful admittance, he was sure that Cornelia would give him the contemptuous glare he was so used to, that he had pissed away any goodwill he'd earned- but her eyes were soft, and her features sad, not outraged.

“ I'm not surprised,” she said. “ I know of your past with Mr. Molinaro. Such strong feelings are to be expected in the defense of someone you care about so much, and I do not hold them against you.”

_You should_ , Dimitri thought, and almost said; but humbled by her benevolence, by her acceptance, he merely looked down at the floor, unable to keep looking her in those lovely eyes, that showed him such concern.  _You should not bother with a monster..._

( _He's so_ _**fun**_ _,_ Cornelia thought, almost awed at how _easy_ this was, at how _simple_ the boy's emotions were to manipulate, delighted beyond words with him. This broken boy was a wonderful toy, she pecked at him, enjoyed the sound when his shattered mind rattled inside his skull. _He hurts so much, he hurts so_ _ **much**_ _._ )

“ I... please, continue,” he said. “ Forgive me my unseemly outburst.”

“ There is nothing to forgive,” Cornelia said. “ But I do have a proposal. The court spreads rumors about your association with Mr. Molinaro. Given the poor opinion most have of Duscur, they are not pleasant rumors. The most repeatable state that he is blackmailing you, though what blackmail they think he has on you I cannot imagine. He does not strike me as a criminal mastermind.”

“ But I am of Duscur, which is enough to throw all I do into suspicion,” Dedue said, his voice not entirely free of a tiredness, of an exhausted sort of acceptance of the world as it was. “ This is known.”

“ Indeed,” Cornelia said, as Dimitri continued to stare at the floor, finding no answers or mysteries in the tile or in his feet, but continuing to search, just in case. “ Worse rumors dog you both, including that your relationship is... intimate.”

Dimitri's hands shook. He tried to stop them, and succeeded only a little.

“ It is not the first time others have been so vulgar,” he spat.

( Dimitri himself was one of those others. There had been dreams- vague fantasies- he cannot recall them on waking, save that his skin is flushed and hot and his need awake and hurting and  _grotesque_ . The dreams sickened him; they felt like a betrayal, knowing how dependent Dedue was on his support, how dependent  _he was_ on  _Dedue's_ support. To have these... lusts... wriggling under his skin was just a further sign of just how inhuman he really was, how awful, how unworthy.)

“ Those rumors will only grow,” Cornelia said. “ It is necessary to cut them off, _now._ We can even sell it to the other nobles as the young prince finally growing up; we need a narrative, in order to place you back on the throne, and take it from Rufus.”

“ A... narrative?” Dimitri said, and finally raised his head to look at her.

“ This isn't just about me, is it?” Dedue asked. Cornelia shook her head at the smarter of the duo.

“ No, Mr. Molinaro, it isn't,” she said. “ This is the opening salvo in Rufus' attempt to deny Dimitri his birthright. He knows Dimitri will not send you away; he intends to use it to claim you have undue influence on the Prince, and cast aspersions on his fitness to rule. Most will listen; Dimitri has no great support at court save Rodrigue, and he is not enough.”

“ Surely a single rumor cannot undo me,” Dimitri said.

“ It can, if one's reputation is already fragile,” Cornelia said. “ Between your father's attempted reforms, your attempt to stop the Tragedy, and your withdrawal from politics in the years since, your approval is dangerously low amongst the nobility. Rufus, who is leading Faerghus to ruin, has high approval- he lets them do as they wish. You are in danger; Rufus intends to keep the throne, Dimitri.”

( True, actually, unlike most of what Cornelia was saying; Rufus had come to like his royal lifestyle, and had no intention of turning the throne over to Dimitri. It was one reason the assassination plan Cornelia enacted worked in so many timelines; most nobles had already realized that Rufus was going to betray Dimitri, so it was believable to them that he would kill his uncle first.)

“ Then we must act,” Dedue said. “ However... you have never spoken extensively with Dimitri or myself before today. Why now?”

Cornelia frowned in contrition. “ A fair question. The answer is... guilt, I suppose.”

Dimitri's sympathies went out to her. He didn't know politics, but guilt... guilt he knew  _very_ well.

“ What guilt could you possibly carry?” he asked.

“ The guilt of letting Lambert's ideals die,” Cornelia said. “ Before your father died, he sought to reform the Kingdom. While I had chosen to leave the Empire behind and embrace the Kingdom as my new home, I still felt uncomfortable telling my new home how to live its life, so when Lambert began proposing his reforms I stayed neutral on the subject. But then he died... and I have spent half a decade wondering if my support might have stopped what happened.”

“ How so?” Dimitri asked. Cornelia leveled a heavy gaze on Dimitri.

“ Duscur did not kill your father, Dimitri. They had no  _reason_ to do so. Lambert was working to improve foreign relations when he went to Duscur, hoping for the Kingdom to reach out to the world more; of all the groups involved, Duscur had the most reason to protect him, and the most to lose should he die... as I think history has proven.”

“ I know Duscur is innocent,” Dimitri said. “ The people who attacked my father were not the people of Duscur.”

“ No,” Cornelia said, speaking the truth. “ I know who killed him, and it was not the Duscur.”

“ You know?” Dedue asked.

“ Then... who? Tell me, I beg you,” Dimitri said, his hands tightening unconsciously, wanting throats to strangle, necks to break, heads to  _crush_ ...

“ Are you sure you wish to know?” Cornelia asked, interrupting his near-spiral into berserkerdom. “ You cannot kill them all yourself, Dimitri. And once you know... it will weigh on you. When I realized the truth, it weighed on  _me_ \- one of them was a friend, Dimitri. Your relationship was... closer.”

“ What are you talking about?” Dimitri asked, just barely able to focus past the building rage in his guts. Cornelia shook her head.

“ I am saying, Dimitri, that if you know... you can't turn back. Once you know, you'll never be able to forget... and you suffer so already. I don't want to add to your burden.”

( Salivating inside as she lied, knowing he would never be able to turn away from this knowledge, that each word she spoke against it would only harden his resolve to continue, Zeus dangling the box before Pandora with a smile)

_She's trying to protect me,_ Dimitri thought with wonder, wonder so strong even his fury quieted, just for a second.  _How long has it been since anyone but Dedue...?_

He sighed, pushed past the blossom of warm feelings sprouting in his chest at the realization that Cornelia _cared_.

For even with her trying to guard him... he had to know.

“ I appreciate your attempt,” he said. “ More than you can know. But... I have already carried so much. I can carry more. I... I  _must._ So tell me, I beg you. Who is responsible for Duscur's death? Who has...”

His throat closed up on him suddenly, on things he had almost said, spilling out of him like blood.  _Who has made these ghosts follow me, who has broken my mind, who is responsible for all my pain and sleepless nights and hurt?_

“ I would like to know as well,” Dedue said into the silence following Dimitri's failed words. “ I... My people were murdered. I would know the names of our killers.”

Cornelia drew in a deep breath, then said the fateful words.

“ The nobility of Faerghus, in conjunction with the Central Church,” she said. “ And your stepmother, Dimitri... she assisted them. She did not die in the Tragedy.”

“ I... no,” Dimitri said, forgetting the first part of what she'd said to focus on the feeling of his stomach dropping out from under him. “ No.”

“ I'm sorry, my prince,” Cornelia said, but Dimitri did not hear her. “ There were orders to avoid her carriage...”

Patrica... memories, running through Dimitri's mind. He had never known his birth mother, save in the vaguest sense of knowing he'd  _had_ one;  _mother_ had been the quiet, forlorn woman his father had fallen in love with, a tale of opposites attracting, Lambert a bursting fire of warmth and cheer, Patricia cold and somber.  _Mother_ had been a quiet woman sewing and sewing, lost in thought. Mother had been a woman who had, somehow, found room in her heart for a little blonde child, despite being hidden, despite her circumstances, who had played with him and taught him how to read and write. Mother...

Mother had killed Father.

“ No,” Dimitri sobbed, and then there was too much inside him, all at once- anger at this woman for lying to him, terror that she  _wasn't_ lying to him, love for his mother and father and hatred over Duscur and the ghosts screaming, the ghosts, they wouldn't stop, they wouldn't  _stop_ ...

“ No.”

“ My prince,” Dedue began, but it wasn't enough, Dimitri couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't hear them, he saw only his mother, he'd mourned her, she'd died, this didn't...

But Gilbert had said, once, that there was something odd about the Tragedy, something odd about how her carriage seemed almost... untouched.

“ No,” he choked out, as tears began to run down his face. An untouched carriage. And... and she would have known what route they were taking. She would have... she would have been able to tell the attackers where they were going to be.

Mother had killed Father. Of course. Of course... that is how it would go, that is how it would be, betrayal, betrayal, Mother had killed Father and... and tried to kill him. His survival, his torment, all an accident, his  _mother_ had tried to  _kill_ him...

“ My prince!” he heard a voice say. Cornelia, he thought, but could not focus on it. Too much, too much inside him, he had no room for air in his lungs.

b

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It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough, he choked on nothing, on all the  _nothing_ inside of him, and the dead screamed in his ears with his father's voice.

( _**AVENGE US!** _ )

He fell to the floor in a slump, passing dead out.

-

In the Agarthan's hidden lair in the Abyss, Cornelia's favorite experimented twitched in its sleep.

Bias shook her head, looking at it.

“ This thing's fucking creepy,” she said, tapping its containing glass like a curious child at an aquarium. Myson burbled a laugh at the concerned look on her face, lit up by the glowing fluid of the holding tank.

“ Good- she meant it to be creepy,” he said.

Bias shook her head.

“ The face is too human,” she muttered, as she turned away. “ And too many hands.”

“ Not human,” Myson rejoined, and Bias waved a slender hand. “ And I thought you liked hands?”

“ I know,” she said, “ subracials and all that, everybody repeats it all the time, but still; they _look_ like us. It's weird. And I only like the taste, not the look, it's... it's got too many hands, is all.”

She went back to her work, and Myson finishing adjusting his hat on his stolen flesh, taking in the sights of the spacious room they'd landed. The hidden lair of the Agarthans in the Abyss was a strange place, even by the broader standards of the underground dwellers. They'd dug through the brick and plaster the Church had boarded up so much of the underground with, to find the magically melded rock and remnant technologies buried like pirate's treasure behind; none of it still functioning, but all of it interesting, and somehow soothing to the Agarthan sense of aesthetics, with its long straight lines and orderly patterns.

It reminded Myson of Shambhala, his distant home, though these lines did not glow, nor could he hear the heavy hum that never entirely left the land of his birth.

( Well, land of his creation, at any rate. What _was_ the proper term for their making, down in the dark, for the things done to the semi-solid masses they drew wet and squealing from the tanks, the surgeries to implant artificial hearts, the things done to solidify their forms and turn them fully alive? Birth seemed so... small... a word, in the face of all they did, and in the quiet dark of his heart of hearts, which he never shared with anyone, Myson thought it sounded a little too _natural_ to describe anything like the processes that had created him.)

The area they'd cleared out was in a part of the Abyss that was incredibly old- maybe even predating the Fell Star's arrival- possibly an old defense installation. Cornelia suspected that it might be the reason they couldn't throw Javelins of Light at the monastery sitting above it... Thales had told them to see if they could find out why, but it was a low priority.

What _wasn't_ a low priority was scouting around. The Abyss... the Agarthans had been using it for a while now, but Solon had, of course, neglected the basics in constructing his _grand plan_. Basics like knowing the lay of the land, keeping up patrols to make sure no interlopers arrived, keeping clear escape routes... there was a reason Cornelia had set Myson and Bias the task of finding her a _new_ hideout, somewhere near _none_ of this. She was sure the Abyss' surprisingly numerous residents would find them in time; best to look now for a new hideout, one separate from Solon's forces. They could take proper care to hide it, this time, focus on the basics that great and vaunted intelligences like Solon tended to forget, too busy seeing the forest to remember to plant the trees.

Solon, of course, had not been told that they would be moving out, that his roommates were seeking new accommodations. They'd deal with that at their next meeting, which had been delayed; Thales had been busy in Adrestia, and Solon had been going on about _capturing the strength of the earth_ and _stone snakes and stone eyes and stone skin!_

( Cornelia and Myson had shared the same look of confusion when he'd told her this morning about Solon's ranting.)

Myson, who used his magic for most things, was ready, his gorilla-faced mask on his face. Bias was currently putting on her latest experiment; a set of strange wrist-mounted things. She'd explained their workings to Myson, who mostly understood, and to Cornelia, who had only somewhat understood, mechanical things not being her main focus, and not being as much of a jack-of-all-trades as Myson. Around them, other Agarthans, those who had not come out of their creation entirely as... _human_... as Myson or Bias, worked out their orders, putting all of Cornelia's equipment in easily movable crates, as she had earlier directed them to before going topside to deal with the Prince and his retainer.

A pleasant shiver went up Myson's spine at the thought. How the Prince would react to having his world torn apart. So beautiful... he'd asked Cornelia to record it, if she could, with the scrying orb in her desk. He wanted to see his hurt, he wanted to see the boy's pain, he wanted to have something to think of on lonely nights when he'd went too long without hurting someone. Physical pain was all well and good, but emotional pain, _mental_ suffering... oh, now that was _exquisite._

The revelations about a certain... someone... would provoke the deepest pain, Myson was sure, his eyes unconsciously flicking over the experiment. Him and Cornelia had debated what she'd say to him all last night; they'd eventually settled on the idea of telling him too much, too soon, savaging him as harshly as possible... and with the truth. Truth, and something like it; Cornelia had come up with an idea on how to present the Agarthans that Myson had rather liked. A way to turn Dimitri into a fine pawn, to oppose the weapon, and let the two stepsiblings merrily murder each other.

Thales had not been told the plan. If it worked, he'd be told; if it failed... well, they could plausibly claim they were trying to weaken Dimitri for the weapon's war by inflicting psychological damage on him.

Thales wouldn't entirely believe it, but he'd leave them be.   
  


“ I think I'm ready!” came Bias' chipper tones, drawing Myson from his musings. The engineer-magess checked her equipment, the technology she'd managed to reverse-engineer from old designs and half-remembered dreams, echoes of the greatness ancient humanity had once enjoyed. “ Let's see... wrist-mounted grappling hooks working... underslung spring-loaded smoke pellet launcher on my wrists, I gotta remember that they're on the bottom and the hooks are up top, don't want to get those two mixed up again... arm strengthening devices attached to my body armor, body armor on. Yep, looks like I'm good to go!”

“ Do you have your knives and elixirs?” Myson asked off-handedly, already knowing the answer.

“ Oh, no!” Bias said, running back to her little corner of their hideout. “ Oh, thank you, Myson! That would have been embarrassing! I hate fighting with my bare hands. Such a waste of a chance to test new devices!”

“ Helmet,” Myson deadpanned. She wheeled back around and ran back to her storage, emerging with the great insect-eyed mask.

“ _Ack!_ Don't tell Cornelia I was being so scatterbrained, I just got so excited I forgot! Been a while since I had a chance to get my hands dirty, or test my inventions in the real world! Too long in the lab, I think!”

“ It's fine,” Myson said with amusement and long-suffering both. “ Anything else you can think of?”

Bias paused a moment, focusing, then shook her helmeted head.

“ No,” she said, in the light buzz her helmet disguised her voice. Myson's own mask made his voice a low growl; just another precaution. Every single disguise made it that much harder to know what they were doing.

“ Good,” he said. “ We're off, then.”

Before they walked out, a voice interrupted them.

“ Hey!”

They turned- and Myson barely suppressed an eyeroll of annoyance. Kronya was approaching, the flame-haired assassin wearing a cocky expression and twirling her knives.

“ Where are you going?” she asked. “ And without me!”

“ Out,” Myson said. “ And yes, as you so astutely noted- without you.”

“ There won't be anyone to kill, Kronya,” Bias said. “ Sorry!”

Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true- if they ran into anyone near their territory, they'd kill them- but they weren't going out _specifically_ to kill anyone.

Kronya sighed and shrugged. “ Okay, but if you find anyone needs killing, you know where to find me!”

Myson nodded to her.

“ We'll contact you,” he lied, before the duo headed out. Ancestors, _Kronya_. When Solon killed her for Zahras Myson would send him a fruit basket.

Leaving the barely-Agarthan behind them, the duo walked out, onto one of the great shattered walkways that surrounded their abode; Solon had chosen this place because only one land route remained to it. The Abyss was a many layered thing, and this part, being one of the oldest, had suffered the most; they'd apparently built it in the middle of a great cave, and over the long centuries, time had taken its toll. What had been flat pathways of stone had been reduced to a few platforms rising up in the darkness, alongside remnants of the ceiling and walls that dangled over a black pit, going down to depths not even the Agarthans knew.

They reached the edge. Bias, hopping from foot to foot, pointed at a platform that was still standing.

“ I'm gonna try to swing over there,” she said. “ You ready to save me if this fails?”

“ Of course,” he said. His lips mouthed the words and his hands danced the patterns until a tiny, quiet rift of spiraling chaos dancing in his hands, black and blue swirls in the world warping the air, ready to be made manifest. “ Whenever you're ready.”

“ Here we go!” Bias said, and hurled herself off the ledge.

Up went the arm- out went a small round ball, which flew straight for a time before falling into the darkness below them. A strangled cry followed from her, a fast sentence her filter rendered into a single buzzing word.

“ _OhnoIusedasmokepelletnooooo_ ”

Myson took aim with his spell, but it turned out not to be needed. A second later, a burst of magically-induced wind rocketed a great long length of heavy black, many-corded rope out of her wrist, rope upon whose end was a heavy Agarthium hook. Another, more exultant, cry followed.

“ _Yessssssssssssss_ ”

It hit the rocky ceiling, where the patchwork stone of the former roof had fallen in, and the Agarthian metal not just punctured it, but _gripped_ , tight.

( Myson released a breath he hadn't quite realized he'd been holding.)

At the end of the rope, laughing the wild laughter of the successful inventor, she swung, swift and sure in the open air, recalling her grappling hook with a flick of one wrist even as she fired the other one out, this time into the remnants of a pillar rising up from the lower darkness. In the hook sank, and she swung again, slightly off from her vertical dive, lower, aimed straight for her target platform. She landed on it, a bit fast, catching herself by firing a third hook into the floor, catching herself before she slid off. She skidded to a stop, and after a moment to catch her breath, turned and pumped her fists at Myson as she retracted her grapples.

“ Myson! Myson! I did it!” she yelled to him- or at least, he _thought_ she said that. Distance and the filter made it hard to tell. He spread his hands, creating a portal right where he stood, stepping through it to the familiar jerk-tug- _pull_ of teleportation, standing beside her on the platform.

“ I see,” he said. “ Good work, Bias.”

“ It worked and it was so _cool_!” she chattered excitedly. “ Though I hope my smoke pellet doesn't get anything down there! Poor moles, or bats, or whatever I hit. I mean it's just smoke but it might hurt a few insects.”

“ I'm sure you hit nothing,” Myson reassured her. “ Lead the way; I'll stay behind in case they malfunction and rescue you.”

“ I'm off!” Bias yelled, leaping off the platform and firing her grapple.

“ _Weeeeeee”_

Myson sighed and readied his magic.

-

Dedue was up and moving, but even he wasn't fast enough to catch Dimitri as he fell, boneless, to the floor.

“ Dimitri!” he yelled in panic as he knelt down next to him, pausing as he did not know what to do next, being no medic.   
( Not the first time recently he'd been at such a loss- he'd been there when Lysithea collapsed after her great duel. Perhaps he should learn how to heal- this was starting to become a pattern.)

Cornelia was there a moment later, thankfully, kneeling beside him, hands gleaming with light as she ran them over Dimitri's unconscious form.

“ He's alive,” she said, as her light echoed off of his body and told her of his health. “ He's alive- this isn't unprecedented. A nasty shock... the mind shuts down to defend itself, if it is already off-balance.”

Cornelia glanced at the man of Duscur, whose heart was still pumping so fast in his chest that he feared it might burst.

“ We cannot let anyone know of this,” she said to him. “ Rufus would pounce on the moment of weakness. Let us arrange him more comfortably here on the floor- and hope we have no visitors.”

Dedue, forcing himself to think past his panic, found he agreed, and he stretched Dimitri out on the floor carefully, Cornelia directing him to move objects away from the Prince so he would not strike them if he stirred in his sleep. Dimitri whimpered as he was moved, twitched, his eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids as some terrible nightmare gripped him, and Dedue was reduced to helplessly standing over him, watching as his friend suffered.

“ Is there anything you can do for his... condition?” Dedue asked Cornelia, normally stoic voice betraying his worry. Cornelia shook her head.

“ Nothing I would dare,” she replied, gazing down at the suffering prince. “ His mind must deal with the truth. It is a terrible thing I have told him... but it is the truth, and truth will always out. Better to hear it now, than face it later. As painful as this must be to watch for you, and as painful as it must be for him, this is how the mind works out such damage.”

Dedue nodded, but right as he turned away he thought he saw a flash of a... grin?... on her face, something sharp and frightening, but when he looked back it was gone, and he dismissed it as simply a trick of his eyes, born of his own anxiety.

( And beside him, Cornelia, almost overwhelmed, wrestling to keep her true self hidden in the face of Dimitri's suffering. Ancestors, she hadn't expected him to be so _hurt,_ even _sleep_ was no respite, she barely had to push and he came apart in her hands. His soul spilled out of his cracked skull and into her fingers and _ancients,_ she felt almost drunk, her mind ranneth over dreaming of all the torments she could inflict on him in the coming months. It was pure ecstasy, it was a drug, and it took all her willpower to maintain the facade of her stolen face in the face of the almost religious rapture gripping her.)

“ All we can do,” Cornelia said, “ is give him time. Well, almost all... I know a spell that will forcefully waken him, but it might do him great harm... let us let him rest for a time. If worst comes to worst, I will use the spell... but I'd rather let him work through this on his own. Sometimes the mind can recover from such a blow swiftly... it is up to Dimitri and the Goddess.”

“ If that is your advice,” Dedue said, frowning.

“ It is,” the healer told him.

Dedue nodded, and the silence stretched like taffy on the pull, both just watching as Dimitri shivered and squealed, a stuck pig bleeding out on the floor. Dedue wished he could help him, could do anything for him, but he had no choice but to wait.

...After a few long minutes, Dedue finally found the will to ask the question that had been on his mind since Cornelia spoke of his people's innocence.

“ Are you sure?” he asked.

“ Of his condition?” Cornelia asked, quirking an eyebrow. Dedue shook his head.

“ Are you sure that my people are innocent?” he asked. She was silent a long moment.

( With an effort, Cornelia wrenched herself away from the hurting little cub on the floor to focus on the aware Lion before her, _remember the plan, Cornelia, remember._ So hard, to focus, when she just wanted to see Dimitri _hurt_.)

“ I am,” the healer finally replied. “ I have the correspondence and letters to prove it; Duscur was set up to take the fall for the actions of the Kingdom nobles and the Church. Suffice to say, whatever blood is on your people's hands, none of it is royal.”

...A kind of unconscious tension between his shoulderblades released, some burden he hadn't entirely realized he was carrying, now put down, his spine groaning with the release of effort. Something heavy, a... a kind of doubt... he'd always believed his people innocent, but somewhere in the back of his head he had always carried that single, terrible thought... _what if they aren't?_

It would not have mattered greatly if they were, of course. A few deaths did not justify the slaughter of so many innocents, even guilt would not have justified the Tragedy-  _nothing_ could justify the murder of an entire people- but... it would have been poisonous, it would have weakened his resolve, to know that they'd been involved. Dedue's dream, the one Dimitri had borrowed in penance for his people's deeds, was to see his homeland restored, his people's slaughter undone as much as possible... and if they had borne any of the responsibility, it would have... it would still be his dream, but he would not have been able to throw his whole heart into it. There would always be a little... reserve.

But now... he took in a deep breath, and it was easier, better, than before. This was a good thing to know. A deeply good thing. He had always feared that his people  _had_ been involved, and now, hearing someone say they were innocent, that there was  _proof_ that Duscur had no involvement... it eased his heart.

“ Thank you,” Dedue said, to this kindly healer, who brought such a balm to him. Even with Dimitri's current state on his mind, it was good to know. “ That... pleases me.”

“ It is simple truth,” Cornelia offered with a shrug.

Dedue went back to watching his prince with a lighter heart, despite the circumstances. Duscur was innocent. Knowing it redoubled his spirit.

Right after Dimitri woke back up.

They were there for a long few minutes, in semi-comfortable silence, before Dimitri shuddered, and, with one last shuddering gasp, opened his eyes, to see the Faerghi and Duscur in the room kneeling at his sides.

“ Stay down for a second, your highness,” Cornelia said, light gleaming in her hands. “ Let me check you over.”

“ Mother,” Dimitri said, not really listening to Cornelia, his face rolling through emotions so fast it was dizzying to watch, before resolving itself into something terrible and grim as a storm at night, his eyes dark and grim and haunted. “  _Duscur._ She was involved?”

He was not talking, he was  _growling,_ grinding his words out between his clenched teeth, pearly whites shining in the glow from Cornelia's healing arts.

“ Dimitri, be calm,” Dedue said. “ Please- you'll pass out again if you focus on it.”

Dimitri's fury slowed, as he looked at his best friend and sole psychological anchor.

“ I... you haven't called me Dimitri in a long time,” he said quietly. Dedue couldn't help the smile on his face.

“ Apparently you panicked me somewhat,” he said in his dry tones, Dimitri somehow finding it in himself to return that smile.

“ You're safe to rise,” Cornelia said. “ Please, my prince- I cannot imagine the pain you are in right now. It must be...  _indescribable._ ”

Again, something Dedue almost caught- a whisper of something odd in her voice, a shivery sort of breathlessness- but then the moment passed, and Dimitri was talking, and Dedue was left with nothing to show for his thoughts, the elusive bird he was chasing escaping him free and clear.

“ Call me Dimitri, please,” the prince asked, as he slowly rose, Dedue's hand unconsciously gripping his own and pulling him up slowly and gently. “ I do not like standing on formalities with friends.”

“ As you wish- Dimitri,” Cornelia said, and  _that_ tone was easier for Dedue to parse- a bit of smolder. Dimitri blushed, and Cornelia smiled with amusement.

_He's into older women, apparently_ , Dedue thought to himself.  _And she's into younger men. Huh_ .

... _Better a woman like her than half the nobles who seek his bed without sharing his dreams_ , Dedue decided a moment later. Cornelia, whatever disparity existed between them in time, at least was alike to Dimitri in ideals. 

Besides, nothing might come of it; just a moment's blush.

“ I... will choose not to think about... what you have said,” Dimitri responded. “ Not just now. It's... forgive me, it's too much.”

“ I understand fully,” Cornelia said. “ I... I am surprised you have the mental willpower to push such an awful thing aside...”

“ I am used to not thinking of matters that hurt me,” the Faerghi said, voice weary. “ But the other matter- Dedue's dismissal.”

“ That can wait,” Cornelai said, but the blonde shook his head.

“ Please, let me focus on something else for now,” Dimitri begged her. “ You said you had a plan?”

“ Oh! I had almost entirely forgotten,” Cornelia said. “ Yes. I suggest you send Dedue to the Golden Deer House for now. You will fulfill Rufus' request, while keeping Dedue near you. You can return him to his rightful place once your position is stabilized and strengthened. I apologize if that sounds a bit anticlimactic after... everything... but this conversation rather ran away from me. It... I have needed to say these things for a long time, my pr- Dimitri. Apparently once I had the opportunity, my mouth just had to take it.”

“ You have carried this burden a long way,” Dimitri said, with as much respect as his awful and tired tones could carry. “ I thank you.”

...Something nibbled at the back of Dedue's mind, something he had to voice.

“ How did you come by your information?” he asked.

“ Crown-killers and architects of Tragedy are not the only conspiracies hiding in the world's shadows,” Cornelia said. “ I belong to a... let's call it a gathering. A Western Church organization, quietly investigating certain matters. We have reason to believe that there has been... subversion... at the highest levels of Fodlan. So we move quietly, and in secret.”

“ A benevolent secret society?” Dimitri said, and he almost sounded amused, in a punch-drunk sort of way, his mind so pummeled that he had the giddy stupidity of the concussed. “ I would say it sounds unbelievable... but this has been a year for the impossible. The Sword of the Creator, in the hands of a mercenary professor, her Crest proof she is the descendant of Nemesis... and the Flame Emperor, assailing our monastery... a Midnight Duel between mages, lightning and darkness warring with each other before my very eyes...”

His voice was very quiet for a moment.

“ Mother.”

Dedue put a hand on him, and the prince leaned into his touch gratefully, even as he kept talking. “ Everything that has happened this year has been... impossible. So why not? I... I am willing to accept your words, that there is a little... what did you call it? A gathering. Why not? It is no more outlandish than anything else that has happened already.”

Cornelia nodded. “ Yes- and I thank you for your acceptance, Dimitri. I assure you, we support you whole-heartedly; we would see you do well.”

Dedue pondered this new information. Dimitri had a point- after everything else that had happened, Cornelia belonging to a conspiracy well-inclined towards Dimitri wasn't even that strange to consider- but something... something still rankled his guts, something still felt... off.

“ Your group has done little about the current circumstances,” Dedue said. Not the best way to start this conversation, but... he knew he had to say _something._ He couldn't put his finger on it, but after half a decade of hidden daggers and malicious double talk from the Faerghi around him, Dedue's sense of danger was the strongest at Garreg Mach, and it was blaring a wordless alarm in the back of his mind.

Grasping at the truth and catching only thorns and feathers, he said, “ I would imagine the Flame Emperor would take top priority in such a group's thoughts.”

“ She does,” Cornelia said. “ We are a small group, Mr. Molinaro. We do what we can. Dimitri will have to do most of the work- and I apologize for placing that burden on you.”

( _Thank the ancestors he's leaving,_ Cornelia thought. Dedue was too intelligent to be allowed so close to their operations; Dimitri was a pig, easily led by a ring in his nose and the promise of truffles, but Dedue was a unicorn, impossible to hunt without very specific tools. Good thing she could just send him off. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd use Dimitri just yet... much depended on how he handled these revelations... but Dedue would be long gone before time to make that decision came.)

Dimitri shrugged, as Dedue latched on to something Cornelia had just said.

“ ... _She?_ ” he said. “ That's interesting... most who speak of the Flame Emperor call them he, or, for those who acknowledge that we have no idea who is under the mask, the more neutral they. Why use she?”

( _Case in point_ , Cornelia thought. She'd deliberately gendered the Flame Emperor so Dimitri could hear it- she wanted him and his stepsister to kill each other like good little children, and was subtly preparing him for the truth of her identity- but Dedue was not content to let it be. _Smart little subracial. Glad you're going to be someone else's problem soon. Maybe I'll send Myson to assassinate you later..._ _if I need Dimitri more wounded, it'd be a good way to start._ )

“ We have a few suspicions,” Cornelia admitted. “ Nothing solid. Nothing we would share as of yet. Better to let the guilty go unaccused than accost an innocent. But in time... I will tell you, if we can confirm our hunches.”

“ Good,” Dimitri said, wavering where he stood, losing himself, pieces carried away by the breeze. “ There were masks at Duscur... masks... the Flame Emperor... was Mother in one of those...”

Dimitri staggered where he stood, but waved off Dedue's approach. “ I... I am sorry, Cornelia... I can't continue today. I have... the knowledge... it sits inside me, it _churns_ , I am sick to my guts... I can't ignore it any more. I do not know how I have not gone mad with it. I... I need time.”

Dedue, with the restraint of long friendship and service, did not tell Dimitri the truth, that the reason he had not gone mad from the new knowledge was because old knowledge had already driven him to that point. He was fairly sure Dimitri was more aware of his problems than anyone else was, anyway; it did no good to remind him.

“ That is more than reasonable,” Cornelai said. “ Honestly, I'm surprised you did not immediately leave our meeting, given... what I told you.”

“ Other matters were more important than my pain,” the brave and broken prince said. Cornelia bowed to him, lightly.

“ My respect for ou grows,” she said. She turned, and withdrew papers from her desk. “ Here, sign these- Mr. Molinaro can deliver these to Professor Byleth afterwards. If you keep my name out of it, it'll look like your own handiwork and decision; it will weaken Rufus, and your standing will rise... but right now, get some rest, Dimitri.”

“ I will,” he said, signing the papers without looking at them, all empty mechanics. Dedue took the papers, and the two men left.

( Behind the door they closed behind them, the monster smiled. That little talk had went _so_ well.)

-

That evening, Dedue would meet Byleth in the greenhouse, and tell her that he needed to transfer to her class. Byleth would be openly surprised, a rarity for the stoic woman; but she would let him join. Byleth recalled the hands that planted flowers at her mother's grave, and a silent friend tending plants beside her; for these kindnesses, she did not bother to ask why, she did not question him, but merely signed off on his joining and welcomed him in.

And with his arrival, the Herd was almost complete, lacking only one more student; another would join it at the same time as he did, but she was special, different, was in her own way already half-present amongst the Herd... and she was not a student of Garreg Mach at any rate. The Wolf to come, though, while he had been a student once and still was, in the technical sense, he was an unknown to them as of yet, and would be for some time, even as he walked with them, whistling songs stolen from other birds in the manner of his epithet.

Byleth informed him to meet her the next day at the market, at noon; they were buying mercenaries for another new member that day, and Dedue would need military of his own. They were leaving on a long trip, soon, and if he was to join them, there was no time to waste.

This did not sit well with the man of Duscur; he had intended to mostly play along with Cornelia's plan, but to continue serving Dimitri anyway. This, though... a month away, and after Dimitri had received such a hammerblow to his skull...

But Dedue had been given so few choices in his life, after the Tragedy. With a sigh, the teenager, solid as a mountain, prepared himself as best he could. He left Byleth to gather the Deer-styled cloaks and accoutrements of his new House from the Monastery's stores, using Byleth's signed paper to get his way; the Knights gave him odd looks, knowing he was transferring to Rhea's favored House, and the respect and fear the Archbishop's attention generated let him get what he needed with haste and good service, which he'd never had before.

He traded his blue-and-whites for golds-and-browns, something he had never considered might lay in his future, and returned to his room to gather his own things, those few objects that he could be said to own; a few books on cooking and gardening he'd purchased with the spending money Dimitri scrounged up for him, a few pots and pans Ashe had gifted to him, a small survivalist's backpack he'd purchased alongside a twin, which sat with Dimitri, who had not thought to prepare ahead for living off the land.

He had paused to look at himself in his room's mirror, a man of Duscur wearing a golden cloak and a pin of a Golden Deer; odd to see.

Claude _had_ joked he was an honorary Deer, the night of the Duel. Perhaps the Leceister Lord had been more accurate than he could have known.

That done, Dedue dedicated his last day as Dimitri's retainer to preparing his schedule for the rest of the month, his last act as retainer... for now. He would regain his place once Dimitri had strengthened his position. He had always known that his presence was poisonous to Dimitri's political standing; he was fine with giving it up for a time in order to give Dimitri greater respect. He trusted the prince; he had saved his life when he had nothing to gain. Dimitri would not abandon him.

Though... something in Dedue was still... uncertain, as to their newfound ally. Something about Cornelia was wrong, his instincts pushed against it... but he knew not what it was.

-

In his room, Dimitri lay in his bed all the rest of the day. A sudden illness, Dedue would claim for him when the monastery asked. He would lay in that bed for the rest of that day, not eating, not drinking, not sleeping, merely existing and hurting.

He did not think. Not precisely.

He merely repeated a few words to himself.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in (mother)

Breathe out (avenge us)

Breathe...

( He would be there all the next day, too, and the day after that, until Linhardt, of all people, noticed he had not seen the prince, and the healer- for remember this, Linhardt was a healer first, the Hevring was a man of peace and love before he was anything- would pull him awake and alive out of his bed, using Caspar to break down his door, two Eagles proving the most loyal Lions in Dedue's absence... but that is a little talk between men that must be spoken of in its own time.)

-

As Cornelia's meeting was concluding, on that morning, a knock resounded on Petra's door. Petra got up, assuming it was Dorothea, but checking the eyehole out of habit; she had dealt with assassins before, and caution was a habit for the princess.

But before her door was not Dorothea; a fellow figure of night, but one she was much less pleased to see.

She opened the door.

“ Hubert?” she said.

“ We need to talk,” he said in his grave way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said Dedue was the best Deer, didn't I? :D

**Author's Note:**

> Another idea that bit me in yon ass. Mostly written over the holidays; I hope ya'll like it!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Notes on Justice For Hresvelg, A Runeless AU in White King, Black King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26441242) by [Telsiree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telsiree/pseuds/Telsiree)




End file.
